The Paperback Writer
by MiniSouffleCafe
Summary: A publishing industry with quite the prestigious performance and the rather high expectations; TARDIS publishers if you so may call it. John Smith, a rather fastidious publisher himself. But when a brunette girl of twenty-four walks into his office on a particular Wednesday, his life suddenly suddenly takes an interest into this girl by the name of Clara Oswald. (Eleven & Clara AU)
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One**_

It wasn't that there _weren't_ enough people who were willing to have their book published by the TARDIS publishing industry, it's just that John Smith was a rather fastidious publisher.

In other words, he was picky.

There were certain things that he did and did not like, in the most peculiar of circumstances. It was a rather difficult challenge to get published by one such as him, but everyone wanted to. He spent most of his time reading unsolicited submissions and mediocre manuscripts, to which he would usually deny any sort of publishing matter to. Saying no to many aspiring authors did cause him to have a sense of guilt trickling inside of his mind, but it still didn't have him change his mind into publishing any of their books.

He had few authors whose books he was happily obliged to publish, such as Summer Falls, the best-selling novel whose author was the well-known Scottish red-head Amelia Williams, who had become a close friend of John at the time. Then there was the lovely Rose Tyler with her heart-breaking romantic novel of Doomsday, to which many people requested a second book to, so that was her current project. Then there was John's somewhat only male author, Jack Harkness, whose stories straightforwardly centered action as its main charisma. Kate Stewart, author of murder mysteries and 1920's noir, and the newest edition to the little writing family, Jenny Flint, whose novels mainly focused on the humor and peculiarity of unexplained topics.

Though there were little authors that were published by the TARDIS publishing industry, it had become a very successful company. There were people all around the world that read their books, the novels claiming the title of a best-seller, printing in various languages so it could gain fame even more so. After all, John chose the most captivating books to be published. When people saw the little image of a deep blue police box on the spine of a novel, also known as TARDIS publisher's beloved logo, they knew that it would be a good read.

As John sat at his desk at a precise time of ten twenty-seven in the morning on a particular Thursday, the time of which he finished reading yet another manuscript from an unpublished author. It was seemingly another story that he'd have to decline to, according to the process.

But this time, it was different.

This story was different.

He had actually liked it.

Defiance, a title that stood its ground rather well. It's story focused on the agency of Star Ship Alaska, but even more so on a girl named Oswin. Sent into an asylum for technological research, captured by automaton adversaries, turned into one of them for her genius, meaning to think like them. Meeting a boy in which they intend to kill, but Oswin still finds the heart to save him, overcoming the the thoughts that she was made to think, killing herself in the process. Great novel, in all honesty.

John flipped to the author's cover letter, a page that included their name and contact information. He read her name in the fine print. Clara Oswald.

And for the first time in quite a while, John smiled, and nodded in approval.

_Not bad, Clara Oswald._

* * *

><p>She paced around in her room, playing with the silver ring around her middle finger, a ritual for her when she was feeling a bit apprehensive. Clara Oswald, age twenty-four, a girl who took a slight interest into writing, but never thought that she'd actually consider publishing something that rightfully belonged to her. Nina, otherwise known as her best friend since who-knows-when, made her do it.<p>

And now look at her, a nervous wreck.

She had sent in the manuscript for her novel Defiance round about a month ago, along with the assurance of Nina that 'No one could deny a story like that.' So she made Nina pay for its printing, for it was a rather long book, as well as its first-class shipping to TARDIS publishers.

"TARDIS publishers?" Clara scoffed at her suggestion. "No way, they say it's too hard to get published from them."

"And you, Clara, have the potential!" Nina scoffed back, mocking her tone of voice.

After she had sent in her story, she got an email of confirmation about a week later from the industry that her novel had arrived there in one piece. It also included the statement that she'd be getting a call from the publisher in a month or so if her story was capable of being published or not, and if so, further information on meeting and such.

It had been a month already.

So for those few days in the transition of weeks to one whole month, Clara paced around the room of her flat, occasionally glancing down at her mobile phone in apprehension. In all honesty, she was terrified. They could say that they loved reading her book, or they could also say that it sucked. And though Clara was rather open to constructive criticism, simply stating that 'it sucked' was more of an insult, and besides, it was in no way professional.

Suddenly, the familiar tone of rings came from her mobile phone as it's screen lit up, the words TARDIS Publishers staring at her straight in the face. (Clara had saved their number to her contact list.) She almost jumped up out of her skin from surprise, just staring blankly as the mobile phone kept ringing. After three more repetitious rings, Clara then realized that she had to answer it, so with a slightly shaky and nervous hand, she grabbed it from her bedside table, and answered the call.

"Hello?" she spoke into the phone shyly.

"Ah, yes, hello!" a voice boomed from the other end, surprising Clara even more so. "Am I speaking to Miss Clara Oswald?" the man asked.

"...yes?" Clara finally found the voice to reply.

"Ah, okay, great!" he said brightly. "This is TARDIS publishers, and we just finished reading your book, must I have the right to say that it was fantastic."

"Really...?" Clara asked, because in all honesty, she was expecting the 'it sucked' kind of conversation.

"Yes, really!" he assured her. "We'd like to schedule a time in which we could meet with you in person, and judging by your cover letter..." he trailed off for a moment, the sound of papers rustling like stiff leaves in the distance. "...you live not too far away!" he stated. "And though I rather did enjoy your book, I'd like to discuss whether it has it's potential concerning publishing and such, so I'd like for you to come to our office on February fifth, one o'clock, if that date and time works well with your schedule, that is." he said in a professional tone of voice.

Clara knew that she had nothing to do, she never really did. "Um...yeah sure, February fifth, one o'clock..." she repeated for her own sake. "That's a Wednesday, correct?"

"Yes."

"...alright, yeah, I'll be there."

"Great!" he exclaimed, his voice rather enthusiastic and seemingly optimistic. "I'll see you then, have a good day miss." he started to hang up before Clara interrupted him.

"Wait, sorry." Clara said abruptly.

"Yes?" he asked in response.

"Who am I speaking to?"

"John. John Smith." he clarified.

"Oh, alright then, thanks." Clara nodded in approval, then realizing that thank you sounded more professional. She then found the mental vitality to hang up from the call, then defiantly throwing her phone down violently on her bed, almost as if she was scared of the thing. She just kept pointlessly staring out her window for a few unimportant minutes of her life, trying to take in the whole conversation. He liked it...he actually...liked it. She breathed in and out, for it was a rather difficult thing to believe in.

After that, you could say that she danced like an idiot in triumph.

Clara then grabbed a red marker from her desk, flipping the page of her calendar and circling February fifth. The ink rebelliously sank through the paper onto the month of March, not like Clara really cared anyway.

She practically fell atop of her bed after that in exhaustion and exhilaration, all of a sudden excited for February fifth.

Maybe she should have thanked Nina for her crazy ideas.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **The response I got from the first chapter was rather surprising! xD Thank you all so much!

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter Two<em>**

Alarm clocks were probably the most pointless things in the world in Clara's right of mind.

Sure, they played the morning radio music and the usual gossiping radio talk shows at the right time.

They just never really seemed to wake her up.

Clara's eyes shot open as she sat up in her bed, her sight immediately directed towards the pointless alarm clock on her nightstand, reading _12:23 _in bright florescent numbers, and it all honesty, it was mocking her. She blinked at the time, willing to just fall back asleep, in which she finally realized that there was a _reason _as to why she had set her alarm clock the night before.

She mentally reprimanded herself as she threw the covers off of her, defiantly swinging her legs off of the bed and running over to her closet to get dressed. She had exactly thirty-seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds until a certain company was expecting her at their office.

Had February fifth arrived that quickly?

She pulled out a dress that she had worn countless times before and violently removed it from its hanger, having some difficulty, for had it seemed as though things just sort of lost their convenience when one was particularly trying to hurry up? That's what it looked like to Clara.

She could get dressed in a hurry.

...she _could_.

But most of the times she just chose not to.

She got dressed in a tedious amount of seven minutes and five seconds, only a thirty sum minutes left. (Clara liked to keep track of her time, it made things seem more organized that way.) She carelessly made her bed, for neatness wasn't really on her lists of concerns at the moment, and besides, no one was there to look at it. She ran up to the mirror and smoothed out her hair for the purpose of the minor vanity issues and nodded in approval of herself, for at least her hair was willing to cooperate.

Clara quickly pulled her shoes on, hopping on one foot as she attempted to pull up its zipper, only falling over in the process due to the existence of her horrible balance. She sighed to herself, wanting to fall asleep right then and there on the carpet, only to be reminded by the rather hostile numbers defiantly glowing on the face of her alarm clock. _12: 32. _Clara moaned to herself in frustration, then deciding to try and zip up her boots while regaining some of her rest on the floor. She violently tugged at the zipper, it refusing to cooperate, for Clara loved the shoes, but in all honesty, it was a real pain in the derrière to get them on.

She stood up after a while of attempting to complete the task, then running out of her room at an instant, then sighing to herself at the fact that she forgot to turn off the light, for it was her after all that was financing the electricity.

Afterwards, she grabbed her helmet that was waiting impatiently on the counter, for she had decided to ride her motorbike rather than take the bus over there, for it was faster and, well, obnoxious passengers on public transportation was just something that Clara didn't really want to deal with at the time. She made sure that she had all of her keys and such and then out the door she ran.

Only having to run back up there again after realizing that she had forgotten to lock it.

* * *

><p>She had managed to get there at around the right time, maybe a few minutes off, but not that bad considering the had woken up nearly thirty-seven minutes ago. The familiar logo of the blue police telephone box stood its ground on the sign for display outside of the office building, underneath it read <em>TARDIS Publishing Incorporation <em>in remarkable newspaper lettering . She imagined the types of people who had the right of an occupation to this kind of place, then realizing that she probably didn't look that professional herself, riding a motorbike and wearing a dress that she'd probably found on sale for half its original price.

Clara parked her motorbike in the parking lot, hopping off and removing her helmet, then quickly raking her fingers through her long brown hair. She looked up at the building that towered above her, for even though it wasn't skyscraper material, it was enough to make Clara feel incredibly small.

She walked in, the sliding glass doors opening, granting her an entrance, the scent of artificial air fresheners greeting her as she saw the main lobby of the building. A woman in a business suit looked up at her from the front desk, a phone receiver tucked in between her ear and her shoulder, her hands shuffling through papers like playing cards. She motioned for Clara to approach her, in which she did as she was told.

After a few minutes of somewhat business related discussion, she finally put the phone receiver down, adjusting the position of its spiral cord so it wouldn't get in the way of her paperwork. "Ah, okay, yes." she started, looking up at Clara. "Hello there, good afternoon, how may I help you?" she spoke in a sophisticated yet rather friendly tone of voice, much to Clara's relief.

"Um, yeah, I have a meeting with the publisher at this time, John Smith I believe?" Clara asked, her eyes looking around the place.

"Name please?" the woman asked.

"Clara Oswald."

The lady then typed in a few things on her computer screen, her hands typing rather quickly. "Ah, yes, here you are, right on time." she smiled up at her client, then standing up and smoothing out her skirt. "Donna! Fill in for me for a moment." she called out to the small room behind her guarded by a door.

"Alright, be there in a mo!" a particular voice said from behind the door, slacking the usual sophistication that was expected, at least to Clara. The woman seemed rather agitated by her tone of voice, then smiling back at Clara. "Follow me." she instructed her, her heels clicking on the tiled floor as they walked up to the elevator. Clara did as she was told, politely walking behind her. She then somewhat felt a bit out of place, for she should have worn something a little more formal, but no, she held her motorbike helmet underneath her arm, casually walking with this professional business woman with neat hair and a clean manicure.

Her index finger pressed on the elevator button, the doors swiftly sliding open, then gesturing Clara to walk inside. She followed the woman's orders, the sound of friendly elevator music greeting her as she paced inside. The woman then followed, pressing on a button that would eventually take them to the fifth floor. The doors closed in front of them as Clara could feel the elevator rising.

"So you got a call from John then I presume?" she asked all of a sudden.

"Um, yeah." Clara nodded in reply.

The woman laughed lightly. "I'm the one to usually call, but he wanted to do it himself this time."

Clara smiled back at her in response.

"What's your name?" Clara asked.

"Emma Grayling." the woman smiled back at her.

"Right, Emma, suppose you might have some...oh I don't know...advice, before we get there?" Clara admitted.

"Oh, I'm not so sure if there's much to say in all honesty, other than a good luck." He tone of voice made it seem as though this John Smith wasn't a very easy-going type of person.

Clara looked at her in a nervous state, and she must have noticed, because she tried to explain.

"John Smith's just rather...unpredictable that's all. And, I do say this to the many other people who travel up this elevator for the same exact reason you are, but, when it comes to writing, he can be very...in particular. He can be strict too sometimes, not to scare you or anything."

Even though Emma assured her that in no way she was trying to frighten the girl, she still did. "...do many people travel back down this elevator successful then?" she asked.

That was when Emma smiled at her in sympathy. "Sadly, no." she shook her head. "He might say he likes it, but then when it comes to publishing concerns, it's a whole other thing to deal with." she admitted looking up at the bland ceiling. "I don't know what goes on in his head sometimes."

Clara nodded slowly, then turning to face the front.

"Are you nervous?" Emma asked as the doors to the elevator opened.

"...kind of, yeah." Clara admitted.

Emma laughed lightly at her response. "That's what everyone says."

* * *

><p>Emma led Clara down the corridor, then arriving at a door at the end of the long hallway. She lightly rapped it a few times before opening it, only to a small extent in which she could peek her head through. "John, she's here to see you."<p>

Emma then nodded in approval as she motioned for Clara to walk in, holding the door open for her. She nervously walked in as she heard the door close behind her, and she knew that this was it. She would either take this interview meeting thing as nonchalantly and politely as possible, _or _she could make an idiot of herself. It was rather unpredictable.

She looked up at the office that surrounded her, for it was an office that she'd certainly hadn't expected. The walls were painted a blinding shade of blue, covered in picture frames of places, random things, and the occasional supernova and space nebula. But what surprised her even more so was the man sitting at the desk up front. He hair was almost gravitational, his chin certainly eccentric, and the bow tie in his collar was just another addition to the weird things that Clara saw. _For one seemingly strict publisher he's sure got one hell of an appearance. _Clara thought to herself.

"You ride a motorbike?" was the first thing he said to her, much to Clara's surprise.

"Yeah, I do." Clara nodded in reply, looking down at the helmet tucked underneath her arm.

"Never met someone who would come to an interview like that before." he noted.

"Is that a bad thing?" Clara asked.

"No, it's just different. You're different."

Clara shyly looked down at her boots that took her a hell of a long time to get on and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear that rebelliously tried to get in the way of her vision. She wasn't exactly sure if that was supposed to be taken as a compliment or just an observation, and it seemed almost embarrassing to Clara if she took it a flattering statement on herself.

"Please, sit down." he insisted, indicating towards the white leather couch that was placed neatly in front of his desk. Clara did as she was told, smoothing out her dress as she did so. "Glass of water on the table, if you like." he offered, Clara glancing over to the small side table standing beside the couch, a glass of water with a lemon slice on it's rim waiting patiently on a silver coaster.

"Oh, um...thanks." Clara said quietly, taking cold the glass into her tiny hands, taking a sip. She then realized that she hadn't eaten, which was a minor concern, considering that she had a pretty strong stomach. She continued to drink from her glass as John continued.

"Just a few questions to get to know you better Miss Oswald-"

"You can call me Clara." she smiled shyly at him.

He nodded in approval. "Alright then, Clara. What's your occupation as of now? If you have one, which I presume you do."

Clara placed the glass back on its coaster. "I play piano for this restaurant every evening, nothing much." she waved it off. "Surprisingly well pay, I mean, the manager is generous enough, along with the amount of tips I suppose." she shrugged. She was surprised at how much she got payed for just playing piano for an easy hour and a half, and still managed to pay the rent with ease.

_Restaurant pianist...interesting._

"How long have you been playing piano?" he asked her.

"Since I was four." she smiled back at him.

"Anything else you've been doing to pass the time?"

Clara bit her bottom lip, almost as if she wasn't sure whether this was a professional question or a personal one. "...baking soufflés?"

He laughed lightly in admiration of her response. "Soufflés?" he somewhat repeated to himself.

Clara nodded timidly.

He smiled back at her. "And if you became a best-selling author, what would you do will all that money?"

Clara sighed, for in all honesty she had the slightest idea. "I don't know...I've always wanted my own red grand piano, so maybe I'll start with that." she laughed lightly, reaching for her glass of water.

He laughed. "Well I suppose you'll be getting that piano very soon then." he smiled at Clara. "You're book was a very impressive, and I believe that it has its potential. I'll be more than happy to publish it."

Clara nearly choked on her water. She coughed a little bit, her mind in a state of pure shock. The glass two-thirds empty was carefully placed back on its coaster so she wouldn't spill it all over the expensive leather couch from the disbelief and surprise. "R-Really...?" she stuttered, still recovering from the lack of air getting into her lungs. She really hadn't expected that.

"Yes, course." he flashed a small smile in her direction. "I'll send it to the next department to get edited, that is, if you're willing to do the paperwork." he admitted, for the paperwork was rather tedious, and just listening to Amelia complain about it made him feel as if it was something everyone would rather avoid. (Such as how Amelia would just skip reading the terms and agreements entirely and just sign.)

"I...um..." Clara was at a loss for words. "Yes, yeah, I mean...paperwork's fine." she nodded her head in agreement. Her voice was weak from shock and the fact that water was unexpectedly shoved down her throat.

He smiled at her. "Great." he stacked a few papers to the millennium's worth of documents located neatly in the boxes in the corner of the room. "I can assure you Clara, that with a book like this, the response will not disappoint you."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three_**

He hadn't met a girl like her; awkward yet surprisingly personable soufflé baking motorbike rebel restaurant pianist by the name of Clara Oswald. Something told him that she certainly wasn't expecting the things that she had really heard, and he couldn't really describe her reaction to it other than surprised.

He hadn't seen surprise in a while.

Clara's unexpected height difference for a twenty-four year old surprised him as well.

She seemed rather shy, almost delicate, but what did appearance have anything to do with that? He could tell by the way she looked at him, how her eyes gave a few petty strange yet attentive glances towards his rather peculiar apparel, but then again, everyone did that.

He really didn't know much about her.

He suggested that he'd change that.

* * *

><p>Ever since she'd graduated from university and got her own job as a restaurant entertainment pianist, Clara had figured that she'd have to categorize her finances for certain purposes, basically the 'grown-up responsibilities' that all adults was eventually faced with, and must she say, she dreaded it. Paying rent for her flat every month and managing her money on food (Forty-five percent of which consisted of ramen noodles and fast food.) <em>wasn't<em> exactly the things that she wanted to revolve around her life. _Who in their right mind _would want that?

So on the first week of every month, she'd dedicated a small portion of her money towards buying a book_. __A _book._  
><em>

Clara squinted at the book on the fifth shelf at the book store, one who's title caught her attention. _Chasing an Infinity _by Kate Stewart, a book in which she hadn't found the time to consider reading yet, it's tiny little blue police box looking down at her from the book's spine. She sighed up at the book that seemed so far away, but just staring at her in the face. She just wasn't tall enough to reach it, that's all. Clara had always been a rather petite girl, and that sometimes did cause difficulties.

The fingertips of her left hand barely grazed the book's spine as her fingers struggled to remove it from the tall shelf, but as she was starting to make some progress, the book decided to slip out of her hand and fall on her head instead. The book's corner of it's hardcover rammed into her left temple, causing a rather unexpected pain to surge through her skull. Clara's hand was immediately raised to somewhat comfort her temporarily injured head, the book that had fallen laying open and sprawled on the carpet below her boots. _Ow. _Was the only thing that came to her mind. She really wasn't too fond of hardcover books from then on. _  
><em>

Her left temple red but slackening on it's pain, Clara carefully bent down and picked up the book into her small hands. She then looked back up at the shelf that stood in front of her, hugging the book to her chest, staring at the ones that she just didn't have the chance to read.

_Someday, the book I wrote might be on this shelf. _She considered to herself, a rather unusual thought at the least. One day, people other than herself will be reading the kinds of things that go on in her head, the words that were written to make sense, the sentences that made their own little world of its own.

Then Clara laughed to herself.

_Someday, I'm probably going to get hit in the head with my own book._

* * *

><p>She used to hate taking piano lessons.<p>

Until she heard the pieces that were actually worth playing.

Her fingers tapped on each key carefully as she played, the music echoing off of the restaurant walls, a rather unusual yet pleasing sound resulting from it, and really, that's all Clara's job was to it. It didn't even seem as if her mind was doing anything but listening, for it seemed as if her hands had a mind of its own. She was playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, first movement only, for she had only learned that part of the overall fifteen minute piece.

_"Are you sure you want to play this?" Her piano instructor, Mrs. Aloi, had told her in hesitation, looking at the notes in doubt. "Some of these notes, when played together, are at least an octave apart from one another, and your hands are rather small." _

She was fifteen at the time, at quite a rebellious state at the least.

_Clara just squinted up at her piano instructor, for she was having none of it. "Yes, I'm sure." she reassured her. She didn't care if her hands were too small or if some of the notes were an octave apart from one another, she just wanted to learn._

After many attempts to play each note at the same time and as smoothly as her piano instructor would have, Clara finally managed to play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata First Movement with ease, all memorized and permanently fixed inside her mind like common sense rules. She'd play it whenever she didn't have anything else to play, and in this case, it was one of those times.

The song had been haunting her like a ghost for the past nine years of her life, and she didn't mind.

As her hands were playing, Clara observed the atmosphere of complicated soup concoctions and lightly drizzled salad plates that was the restaurant that which she worked in. _Tasse de Soupe_, quaint French fine dining restaurant with rather impressive reviews and polite and rather pleasing service. Clara played at it's grand piano every night from seven o'clock to eight (Accepting tips you might also add.) Her eyes scanned the room as waiters bustled around lifting trays with ease and carrying five plates at a time, the sound of wine glasses clinking and small conversation with sophisticated laughter that sounded just a bit too conspicuous.

She eased the weight of her foot on the damper pedal of the piano, a small portion of people willing to applaud, much to her surprise, even though it happened almost every night. People heading out left a few tips in the tiny stationary box that Clara had left there specifically for that purpose, thanking them for helping her pay her flat rent. (Well, she didn't actually say that, but that was the main cause.)

"Clara!" Astrid called over the few people talking, standing at the nearby waiting area and front desk, replacing a few menus with the rest. With her free hand, she motioned for her to come over, to which Clara did at her request.

"Yes?" Clara asked.

"Sorry to interrupt, Clara," she smiled apologetically. Astrid Peth was a feisty twenty-three year-old, short curly blonde hair only an addition to her distinctive appearance. She didn't favor being a waitress as much as one would expect, but it helped her pay rent as any other job would, and besides, she liked talking with Clara at times in which she could. "Mrs. Angelo just wanted to ask if you were working on Valentine's Day, she does wish that you will." she sighed.

Mrs. Angelo was the owner of the place, nice little elderly lady, surprisingly good-looking grandson, not like Clara paid any attention to that.

"Yeah, I'll be here." Clara admitted promptly while instinctively straightening the business cards to it's equal prepositions and turning the potted plant on the desk ever so slightly to the right. (It sometimes annoyed her when things were the tiniest bit out of place.)

Astrid raised an eyebrow at her response. "Really? You don't have plans or anything?"

Clara shook her head calmly. "No."

"In all the time I've known you, I'd at least expect you to have a boyfriend or something." she admitted. Clara only laughed. "Wait, do you?" she asked for a reassurance.

"No, I don't." Clara admitted, not like she was ashamed of it or anything.

Astrid, however, looked surprised. "Well why don't you?"

Clara smiled at her. "Oh, I don't know. I just haven't really...thought about it I guess." Astrid didn't know about Clara's publishing ordeals, and she was trying to keep it that way until things got formally finalized and such before people began blurting it out to every being within their ten-foot radius. (Clara wasn't sure on whether to take that as sarcasm or if that was what were really going to happen.)

Clara had never really put much thought into having a particular _interest_ into another person, for it just had seemed as something that she shouldn't worry about, for there were much better things that deserved her attention towards. She had publishing matters to deal with, for one, and her job was the only thing that distanced herself from being practically homeless and starving for the past couple years, so it seemed as if she really didn't have time to think about those kinds of things.

Either that, or she was just ignoring it.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_**

Clara noticed how people (Especially people in current stable relationships.) were rather bubbly on that particular Friday, along with the fact that there were hearts every square inch the eye could see. _Oh, must be Valentine's Day already. _Clara nonchalantly told herself, for there wasn't really a difference for her between the somewhat romantic holiday and any other day. Not to seem as if Clara was a killjoy or anything, it's just that she thought that a day partially dedicated to cheap pieces of paper that said things that wouldn't really have an impact on society was somewhat pointless.

_"It's a day to show that you really love the messed-up people in this world." Nina said with sarcasm, trying to emphasize her point._

_Clara just stared at her in slight confusion. "Shouldn't you do that every day?" _

She had made sure to arrive at work a little extra early to make sure that the piano was set up and ready by seven o'clock. As Clara shuffled through her piano binder to see what she was going to play (All arranged in alphabetical order), Mrs. Angelo approached her, an unusually exuberant smile on her face. "Clara, happy Valentine's day!" she greeted with enthusiasm, hugging her lightly, Clara staying a bit stiff, standing awkwardly in her embrace. "Oh, I'm so glad that you could come to work today, you'll surely please the customers, especially on a day like this." she sighed in content. "I do apologize if your working hours interrupted anyth-"

"Oh no, it's fine. I really didn't have any plans for today." Clara interrupted, shaking her head.

Mrs. Angelo, for one, simply raised an eyebrow in surprise. "My, I'm sure you would darling, it's Valentine's Day!" she exclaimed in protest. "I'm sure you would have someone special." she smiled warmly.

"Of course I do, Mrs. Angelo, just...not in _that _way." Clara laughed lightly.

"Oh, but look at you Clara!" she insisted. "Pretty, smart-"

"Nah." Clara smiled back at her.

"...well." Mrs. Angelo finally said, smiling back. "I hope you have a wonderful evening regardless, and I can assure you, won't be long until you meet somebody that catches your eye." she winked as she paced up to the front doors to greet customers. Clara stood silent for a few moments, not sure if she should really take that into consideration. She stared at the people, most of them in pairs of two, black ties and dresses. Clara shook her head, for she rather disliked getting lost into her own thoughts.

She rolled up the sleeves of her soft white sweater and smoothed out her floral crimson dress as she sat down on the creaking piano bench, staring at the notes before her. She had always seen music notes and signs as a different language, and when you thought about it, it really was. Staccato bursts when making a point, demanding attention, and pedal marks, wanting to remember the notes played before, almost like an echo. Rests like stop sighs, repeat signs leading you back to the beginning to retrace your steps. Clara found it rather extraordinary.

_"When choosing a piano piece, it has to fit you, like a dress." _Mrs. Aloi told her on her first day of lessons. Clara wasn't into much of tarantella, she found than rather too fast, but she took a liking into sonatas and other slow pieces. She soon understood what she meant by that. Everyone has a different type of interest, some much rather prefer playing at seventy-five miles an hour with impressive dexterity, and others (Much like Clara) liked sedate types of music.

Her hands played a piece by the title of _River Flows in You _by Yiruma, her left hand playing slowly, yet her right climbing up keys like some sort of unusual arachnid. (That probably wasn't the most pleasing way to describe it.) That's what she loved most about it, how two different things could sound so beautiful together. She had learned it last summer, practicing until an unknown hour in the morning on her little electronic piano, making sure to turn the volume down so that the neighbor's wouldn't complain, but it was a nice song anyway, so what did it mater?

She played song after song, then afterwords, she heard applause after the next. She felt happy and pleased that other people enjoyed listening to her. At nearly eight o'clock, she saw Abigail come in through the front door, greeting the hostess and a few other people she happened to know. Abigail Pettigrew was a rather impressive démodé chanteuse, for she enjoyed singing songs from main icons and other immortal songs that everyone with common sense recognized. She performed every Friday after Clara, but usually she wasn't willing to stay another hour.

She knew that she'd have enough time for some sort of denouement, so she hurriedly flipped through her binder to find something decent to play. Her eyes finally caught their attention onto _Serenade _by Franz Schubert, a song that was undeniably beautiful, but just not played enough. Clara finally decided on playing it, her hands resting on the correct keys, a small moment of respite before Clara carefully started to play the first measure. Her eyes scanned the first few lines with ease, patently remembering it in her head, for it only took her a few measures to get used to it again.

But as Clara continued on with her piece, she noticed something in the corner of her eye. She didn't dare to move her head to the right, she wasn't one to get sidetracked, but it pulled at her attention slowly as Clara's eyes met a man sitting at a table for two, yet, alone. He was hunched over a stack of papers, the rim of his reading glasses visible in her view. It took her a while until she actually realized who it was. _John. _Clara just kept staring at him, her mind on something else but her hands centered on playing, for she was grateful to have the capability of multi-tasking.

Song fading into echos left by a sustain pedal, she heard the petty sounds of clapping, the unimportant revelry pushed to the back of her mind. Her eyes were fixed onto him, he almost seemed out of place. She didn't know why; maybe it was because he was one of the only people seated by himself, or maybe because she just hadn't gotten used to his unorthodox choice of clothing yet.

Unexpectedly, Abigail approached her and to Clara's surprise, started talking to her.

"Hi Clara." she smiled. "You played beautifully tonight."

Clara shook her head, trying to break out of her thoughts, focusing her attention onto the girl in front of her. "Oh, yeah, thanks." Clara replied, smiling timidly back at her.

"Are you staying perhaps?" Abigail asked, hoping that for once Clara could hear her perform a bit.

Clara bit her bottom lip, and then glanced over at John, who was still preoccupied with whatever he was reading. "...yeah, I think I'll stay." she nodded her head in slight approval of herself, for she had at least decided to say a hello, for it looked as if he needed one. Abigail beamed at her response as Clara collected her music sheets together and placed them neatly into her binder, snapping the rings shut. She waved goodbye to her as she made her way past waiters and customers over to his table. She then stood quietly behind him as she just watched him for a few seconds, his back to her, Clara hugging the binder to her chest, wondering if she should even say anything at all.

"Expecting someone?" she finally found the courage to ask, John almost jumping out of his chair from surprise, turning around to meet the eyes of the girl in front of him.

"Oh, hello Clara." he smiled timidly at her. "Uh...no, I'm afraid not."

"Well it certainly doesn't seem like you're eating much," Clara said, glancing a look towards the tea cup barely touched and sitting impatiently on its saucer. "Then why are you here?" Clara asked.

"Oh, I don't know, it's a nice place, and besides, I need to finish reading this." he indicated towards the stack of papers in front of him, another manuscript that he was in the middle of.

"So you're alone?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Clara raised her eyebrows at his response. "Well then, I'll guess I have to join you." She admitted, pulling out the chair opposite of his and casually allowing herself to sit down, placing her binder underneath her chair. John took this as a minor surprise, and for a few moments, just sort of stared at her.

"...so you work here?" he finally asked.

Clara nodded.

"You play rather well."

"Thanks...I guess." Clara smiled at him, looking down at the lace place mat that lay patiently in front of her. "What are you reading?" she asked curiously, eying the papers in front of him.

"Another manuscript," he waved it off, but Clara was rather interested.

"...can I read it?" she suddenly asked. He took this as an unexpected gesture, as for he just stared at her for a few moments, for it was a request that had never really been asked to him before, but it wouldn't hurt though, a plausible and minor concern he presumed. So he slowly shuffled though the papers and pulled out the first few pages of the book and handed them to her, Clara smiling in reply. She looked at the first few sentences, her eyes scanning each line, reading them carefully.

_I didn't like to imagine myself as a widow, nor did I enjoy calling myself one. Not because it had a despondent meaning or that I didn't want to sound too old or aged, it's just that it simply wasn't true.  
><em>

_He'd been fighting the war for far too long, my husband, up to the point in which they couldn't even keep track of his whereabouts anymore. Disappeared, that's what they described him as, and then they immediately started to conclude that I was a widow even though they had no evidence of whether his heart was still beating or not, hell, they didn't know where he was! _

_My children had been starting to ask if he is to come home soon or not, and I kept assuring them that he will. _

_I really do hate lying._

_And yet another holiday was to be passed, alone, just the three of us. Or so it had seemed._

_For there was this man, this peculiar, clever, idiotic man who came along and flipped my perspective of the world to infinities that I never even knew were there. _

"It's rather impressive, I'm considering it." John said, flipping over to the next page as he continued reading. Clara just slowly nodded in reply, her eyes fixed onto the cover page that lay by itself on the clean white tablecloth. She read the name printed at the top. _Madge Arwell. _Clara wanted to read more, her eyes skimming down the page. This book, painted with hints of slight tragedy yet staccato detonations of sheer humor, was rather peculiar and it caught her attention without even trying. She liked it.

"What do you look for in a good book?" Clara asked quietly, a question that was never really answered, only because it was never asked. He had actually never taken the matter into his consideration, for it was simple; either he liked it, or he didn't. He didn't find it as complicated as some might think, for all of the stories that he had published were different from one another.

Or so it may seem.

Clara had noticed something minor in all of the books published by TARDIS, something that all of them had in common, yet it was just one of those things that's definition couldn't be expressed through words, but it was something that just seemed so _obvious, _and Clara just couldn't quite figure it out exactly, but it irked her. Counterparts, that was what she called them, and she wanted to know what could simplify all the books to one main idea, the one thing that made John like them so much.

He didn't know either.

"I'm not so sure if there's a particular answer for you there, Clara." he replied.

_Oh, well then. _Clara thought to herself. _No worries; I'll find out myself...eventually.  
><em>

She then eyed John's bow-tie suspiciously, for something irked her about that too.

It wasn't that it was just plain weird to wear one on a daily basis (Though it was), it's just that it seemed almost...off. Clara didn't like it when things were off, it would annoy her at most times, which would eventually sometimes annoy her friends too in the process. She slightly tilted her head to the right, inspecting the fabric tied around his neck, tucked underneath the collar nicely, yet just a little bit out of place and proportion. _Aha. _A mental hand snapped its fingers in realization as Clara soon became aware of the fact that she couldn't stand it when things were crooked, hell, maybe even smiles; she didn't know for sure.

"Something wrong?" he asked her, for she was sure looking at him weird for the past two minutes or so.

Clara shook her head sharply. "Fix it."

"Fix what?"

"Your _bow-tie_." she replied as if it were so blatantly obvious.

He tried to look down at his collar, then noticing that from one's perspective you couldn't really get a good look at your own bow-tie. "Why does it bother you if my bow-tie is crooked or not?" he asked, for he wasn't trying to be rude, he was just curious.

"I don't know it just sort of sticks out like a...big chin." she glared at the bow-tie even more in dismay.

"Oi, what are you saying about my-" he started, then stopping mid-sentence to somewhat defend his eccentric facial features.

Clara stifled a laugh. "_You're _the one who decided to take that as an insult, not me." she assured him. John huffed in response, cordially adjusting the piece of fabric around his neck, much to Clara's relief. In fact, there were many things that Clara could tease at about his appearance, such as his gravitational space hair, or his eyebrows, for goodness sake, and maybe even the ungainly way he would flap his hands around for emphasis when speaking. (But it did make its point) Clara was rather thankful for her ability to keep her mouth shut. She smiled at him in amusement as he attempted to overlook himself in tension, as if she would only playfully insult him even more. Clara laughed.

"So, John Smith," Clara clicked her tongue at his name. "Tell me about yourself." she smiled.

"Is there anything important you need to know?" he asked.

"Well, I could either read your Wikipedia page or you could tell me yourself for once, whichever one sounds better." She eyed him curiously, for he was her technical boss after all, better to know him personally than to keep staring at him from a distance and just searching the rest on the Internet. It made her remember that John Smith was a wealthy entrepreneur, he was well-known, he was the publisher of many august bestsellers, and _he had his own Wikipedia page. _(That's all it took for one to be titled as distinctive.)

"You're different, you know that Clara Oswald?" he asked her.

Clara only smirked in reply. "My specialty."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **In all honesty, I don't have a defined schedule for this story, so just check once every few days for an update. :)

Also, the two songs I mentioned in this chapter, _River Flows In You _by Yiruma, and _Serenade _by Franz Schubert, they're both beautiful piano pieces, definitely worth a listen if you haven't done so already. :D


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

John Smith was a mad man. He could probably tell that she already knew it for that matter by the way she would nod a bit apprehensively and raise her eyebrow at all the unusual things that he said about studies of catastrophic supernovas, which told Clara that this guy was quite the science brainiac. With the kind of stuff that just rambled on in his head, at a first glance, Clara would've at least expected him to be some sort of lab technician from a blockbuster 1980's movie. Clara just made the supposition that he had one hell of an interest for science fiction, a supposition that spoke its reasons clearly for itself. She'd never expected to get so far as business related concerns discussed between her and John, but that night, a Friday in which everyone had seemed somewhat preoccupied, there were two.

Two seemingly unimportant human beings living their ordinary human being lives on a particular set of twenty-four hours global citizens call Valentine's Day. And the particular romantic holiday having the slightest bit of impact on them, mainly because they found nothing to celebrate about. It wasn't a bad thing, in all honesty it was tranquil, but really, they had each other.

Clara and John.

Seven days and a number of hours later, Clara found herself writing again, something a little more personal, something that she'd never consider showing to anyone but herself, and, maybe her mother if she were still alive. She repetitiously clicked her pen; it had become her unhealthy habit, one that eventually had become her friends' pet peeves mainly due to her. Clara was one of those kinds of people who could look at a retrospective glance at something and a web of propositions and objectives would just appear in her mind like accusations in an episode of _Sherlock. _It's just how she was. And albeit that way of finding ideas, Clara had three main principals when it came to getting some form of inspiration: musical compositions, words that sounded pretty, and John Green novels. (Clara was one hell of a crier when it came to The Fault in Our Stars.)

Clara glanced over at the stack of books that were already read and memorized word by word sitting quietly on her desk table, and on top, sat rather impatiently a stapled bunch of papers that Clara needed to turn in. Publishing issues, what else? Clara looked at her alarm clock on the opposite side of her room, for it wouldn't hurt to take a visit to TARDIS publishers at the time. Clara closed her notebook and clicked her pen closed, dropping it into the Starbucks plastic coffee cup that served as a pencil container. She grabbed the stack of contracts and such from her desk, for she could drop them off with Emma and then go out to eat for the night, something along those lines.

* * *

><p>"Here you go Emma, John just wanted me to fill these out." Clara politely handed them to the TARDIS secretary, exchanging a friendly formal glance with her. "Oh, yeah, another thing, do you happen to know where the restrooms are?" Clara asked, for the purpose of her minor vanity issues. Emma pointed her pen she was writing with to her left.<p>

"Down the hallway, to your right, just after the copy machine."

"Thanks." Clara replied as her boots walked down the hallway, for she had never really gotten to know the place. She looked around at the white walls that seemed to close in on her, picture frames outlining the paintings of cities that Clara had always wanted to visit. Clara glanced at them and smiled a bit; she had always wanted to travel.

Clara turned the next corner and ran into someone else, Clara squealing in slight surprise as a pair of hands held her shoulders still from falling. Clara looked up to see John's familiar face, and Clara smiled in slight relief to know that it was just him. "Hi...um, sorry." Clara laughed lightly, backing away from his grasp, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Don't worry." he smiled back at her. "Were you-?" he asked, gesturing towards the restroom doors.

"Yeah."

"Oh, alright."

Clara smiled back in response."Oh, yeah, I turned in those papers you wanted me to fill out. Emma has them."

"Alright, great." he gave her a thumbs up.

Clara made her way past him to push open the restroom door, then happening to bring up another question. "Do you need anything else?" she asked curiously, wanting to make sure.

John simply shook his head. "Ah, nah, nothing really." he responded, but there was just one thing that he had wanted to ask her, but was unsure of whether to bring it up at the time. "But... I was just wondering... do you, maybe want to make plans for dinner sometime?" he asked cautiously, wondering if he should've just kept his mouth shut. It wasn't in that way if that's what you think, he just wanted to, you know, maybe get to know this new writer of his a little better.

Clara took it as a surprise, for no one, not really at least, had _ever _asked her out to dinner. Maybe her aunt or Nina or something, but never really a _boy_. "Um...yeah sure, just...when?" she asked.

"Whenever, really." John replied nervously.

"I have nothing to do tonight." Clara noted, wondering if he'd take her suggestion.

John was taken by surprise, for it was just something that he had taken as a minor concern, but he didn't think it'd be _that _soon. "Yeah, sure, why not? I'll pay."

Clara shook her head in objection. "No, you can't do that, I can pay."

"No really, I asked you."

"And I agreed to paying for myself."

"I'm offering a perfectly free dinner here, you know you want to take it." John cocked an eyebrow, much to Clara's amusement. She giggled.

"Fine, whatever." she shook her head. "Take me wherever you like." she added, pushing open the restroom door and heading inside. John smiled to himself. Been a while since he'd asked a girl out, much rather her actually agreeing to it.

But it wasn't a date, not to him at least.

Clara didn't realize what she had just agreed to do. She stared at herself in the mirror, wondering if she was the kind of person to just easily agree to impromptu dates with her publishing boss. _It's not a date, just...dinner. _She reassured herself, a reassurance that questioned itself. Clara was old enough, she could make her own decisions, Clara reminded that to herself, but, it was just something that she wasn't used to. _Eh, what the hell, at least I get a free dinner. _Clara thought to herself.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: ****Been a while since an actual author's note, eh? :) Nice little fluffy chapter for you all. **

**Thank you for everyone who's been reading as well, I do appreciate your support on this story. I've got some big plans for it! I'm going to try and update every weekend...hopefully. xD :)**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Six<strong>_

She stared his sports car that waited patiently in the parking lot, its silver paint job reflecting off the blinding sun, much to Clara's annoyance. It was a nice car and all; not exactly new, but still enough for Clara to find it impressive. All she had was a motorbike. "I call him Handles." John said sheepishly, smiling a bit with a shrug of his shoulders. Clara giggled in amusement. She didn't have her motorbike with her at the time, decided to take the bus unexpectedly, yet John seemed more than happy to give her a ride. He opened the door for her as she climbed into the passenger seat, more than grateful that John was one to keep his car clean. He sat down in the seat next to her and gave her a slightly shy grin. "So, where do you want to go?" he asked her.

Clara stared straight ahead. "I...don't know." she admitted.

John thought for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel loosely. He was one to always have some sort of backup plan in case someone didn't have one, and in this case it came in handy. "Okay." he finally said, putting the car into ignition.

"Where are we going?" Clara asked.

John kept his eyes straight ahead, unwilling to respond, for he liked to keep his plans a surprise. "Somewhere." he replied nonchalantly, turning the wheel ever so slightly to pull out onto the main road.

She looked out the window, for sometimes, plans just had to be accepted without actually knowing what they were. "Doctor-" Clara started then stopping mid-sentence in surprise. She didn't know why she had called him that, she hadn't meant it. While writing her book, Clara couldn't come up with a decent name for the male protagonist, so she had just called him _The Doctor_. He wasn't even a doctor, not medically speaking, but Clara just thought it fit. "Sorry..." she tried to laugh it off lightly. "Writing just sort of gets into my head sometimes." she admitted.

John only laughed lightly in response. "It's alright." he reassured her. "You can call me Doctor if you like."

"But why?"

"Do you know how many people in the world are named John Smith?" he asked her, laughing to himself, his eyes on the road in front of him. "Besides, I like The Doctor, great character of yours; really badass if you ask me." Clara laughed, leaning her head on the cold window.

"Thanks." Clara whispered, wondering if he'd hear.

"It can be a little inside joke."

Clara smiled. "Alright." she finally said, looking at the cars and buildings that passed by, chasing the roads that would eventually lead back to where they stared. _Chasing the roads that would eventually lead back to where they started. _Clara repeated this in her head a few times. It sounded nice. She'd have to write it down. "What's it like," Clara started, playing with the little silver ring on her middle finger. "To deny so many people who want to become somebody who's name will be recognized?" she asked him quietly, observing the street lamps that passed by.

"I don't deny the people, I deny what they write." The Doctor replied, taking a moment to take a good look at her.

Clara raised her eyebrows. _Impressive. _She thought. "Touché." she smiled, to which he smiled back at her. She turned back to face forward as she thought about it. Out of all the people The Doctor could have chosen, out of the several attempts to become published, The Doctor chose Clara, and she hadn't even intended it to be that way. It reminded her of a little someone named Primrose for a moment there, Suzanne Collins books were honestly brilliant. She smiled to herself. Literary connections. She loved them.

* * *

><p>Eating panini in a bookstore with her publishing boss wasn't exactly Clara's ideal plans for that evening, yet she found a way to accept it as it was. He sat across from her, sipping a coffee, something that Clara didn't think people would drink for dinner. She eyed him carefully as she took a bite, thinking about how weird the word <em>panini <em>sounded. Clara was rather impressed with The Doctor's taste. She then took a good look at him for the first time, and noticed that for once, he wasn't working. It was weird. "Clara," he started, and she looked up to meet his eyes. "If you like, we can work together on editing the manuscript, I mean, if you want to." he said, and Clara noticed that he was stuttering. She smiled back.

"Yeah, sure." she replied. She realized that The Doctor did so much of the work himself, editing, reading; she wondered how the hell he managed to finish. It stressed her when thinking about it. "...you do most of the work yourself?" Clara asked. He nodded slightly in response. "Don't you ever get tired of it?" It seemed as if all he ever did was read.

"Maybe, I don't know." he replied, looking down at the table. "Never really thought about it as work I guess."

Clara nodded slowly, even though she couldn't really picture it.

The Doctor perked up after a while, as if he was remembering something important. "Oh yeah, we're having a birthday party for Rose next Saturday, I was wondering if you could come...?" The Doctor asked in a way that didn't seem pretentious, yet Clara still half-choked on her panini. She had a tendency of doing that. It just sounded so... _normal _coming from his mouth, and it just seemed like the strangest thing. "Rose...Tyler?" Clara asked, more than surprised.

"...yeah." The Doctor smiled.

Clara nodded slowly, trying to take everything in. To The Doctor, Rose Tyler was an everyday friend. To Clara, Rose Tyler was a literary genius with the power to crush the human soul. She was practically brilliant. The Doctor gave her a hopeful smile, which at that point she shook her head, snapping out of her thought. "Oh, uh...yeah, I, um, sure...I can...come." now she was the one to stutter. "I...where is it?"

"My house, I can text you the address..." He trailed off, taking out his phone. Clara breathed in, attempting to stay calm. _Rose...Tyler._ _Okay. _She thought to herself, trying to seem it as an ordinary incident. She smiled a bit in spite of herself. "...call me your plus-one?" Clara shrugged her shoulders, to which he gave her a shy look. Clara giggled.

She imagined the type of people, specifically authors, she had a chance of seeing, _meeting _even, and hell, talking to them was certainly out of the question, at least to Clara. But then she noticed something. All of these authors, of the people whom she had _never _thought she'd be in a hundred foot radius of, with an oncoming book of hers, she was going to be one of them sooner or later.

It was a peculiar thought at the least.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

The alert sound of ringing disturbed Clara's current state of peaceful sleep, much to her disruption and exasperation; she wondered what kind of person would be calling her at 2:46 in the morning. She sat up in her bed, a bit groggy, and glanced over at her mobile phone slightly shaking from the vibration on her bedside table. Clara groaned, hesitantly waiting before answering the call, the sudden light from the screen putting her in a temporary blind state. "Clara?" a familiar feminine voice asked on the other line. It was Nina.

"Nina, what the hell are you doing calling me at nearly three in the morning?" Clara sighed, rather agitated. She loved Nina, honestly, but sometimes she could be certainly tiresome, along with her bizarre requests.

There was a slight moment's respite after Clara had asked, almost as if Nina was waiting for Clara to settle down a bit. "...okay, so I _kind _of left my flat keys in the counter drawer at work, so I was wondering if I could just stay at your place?" Nina asked. She was a waitress at a twenty-four hour diner, and she worked the late night shift because she was practically nocturnal. Her explanation didn't seem as convincing.

"Then why don't you just drive your lazy butt back to work and get them?" Clara said, a sense of aggravation in her stomach and her mind pleading itself to shut down.

"...well, see, the thing is, I'm kind of already _at_ your front doorstep." Nina admitted. Clara rolled her eyes, for she wasn't exactly expecting herself to have a flatmate for the night.

"Fine; I'll be there." Clara gave in, hanging up on her. Nina was one to just drop in on her friends at random periods of time in their lives, something that Clara found rather unusual, but that's just Nina. She was a great friend, Clara had met her at university, and she was just one to be naturally funny and uplifting. It was so _easy_ to get mad at her, yet it was just _too _easy to forgive her all the same. And although Nina really could be a pain in the derrière sometimes, Clara liked her that way. People chose their friends because they like that person's particular persona; and Clara thought that there was no point in trying to change that. There was something about Nina, something peculiar, but eccentric.

"So," Nina started, taking in a big gulp of milk from her glass. "What happened?" she grinned at Clara.

It took her a moment to realize what she was talking about. "Oh, the book-?" Nina nodded in reply. Clara gave her a look that told Nina that she wasn't exactly sure. "They...they said that they liked it." she admitted, much to Nina's approval. She urged her to continue. Clara looked up at the ceiling, unsure of a way to describe it without it sounding horribly pretentious. "They um...they agreed to publish it."

"Oh my gosh Clara that's _great__!_" Nina cried at a sudden, standing up to hug Clara tightly, knocking over her glass of milk in the process. She then pulled away hesitantly, looking at the wet kitchen table. "...sorry, I'll clean that up." she said in barely a whisper, smiling as a way of reassurance. Clara shook her head.

"So, what's next?" Nina said excitedly as she tore off a few paper towels from the roll on the counter.

"I don't know...just...waiting I suppose." Clara admitted, watching her clean off the milk rather quickly. Waitress skills. Clara seriously lacked them. "He said that we could work on the manuscript together to get started on editing-" Clara attempted to continue, but the sudden stare coming from Nina's eyes told her that she had heard something out of context.

"..._he_...?" Nina asked rather suspiciously, the word certainly seeming conspicuous.

_Shoot. _

Clara attempted to explain, for if she didn't give at least a decent reason as to why he had brought in a male character into the conversation, she'd never hear the end of it. "Um, yeah, _he_ as in John...Smith." Clara shook her head abruptly. "He's the...publisher, editor...person." Clara attempted to shake it off in the most nonchalant way possible, but Nina wasn't letting the matter go so easily.

"Young at all? Good looking?" Nina raised her eyebrow, all of a sudden interested.

Clara didn't want to admit, and she wasn't one to lie either. She hesitantly gave a shrug of her shoulders, though nodding a bit in reply. "Yeah, young. And not bad when it comes to good looking, has one _hell _of a chin though." she looked up to the ceiling, as if it were to help her cope and somehow decipher The Doctor's unfathomable chin. Nina smirked.

"Ooh, so Clara's got a gentleman friend now does she?" Nina teased, a wad of soppy paper towels in her hand.

"Shut up." Clara laughed lightly, playfully punching her in the arm. "He's just my boss, basically." she said, trying to deny and sort or form of platonic relationship. Nina nodded, still certainly unconvinced.

"Alright, but if anything _does _happen to occur between you two, must I say that I won't be the slightest bit surprised." Nina grinned. Clara smiled in objection to her assumptions, rolling her eyes.

Clara then glanced at the clock that was slowly ticking on her kitchen wall. _3:11. _"Look Nina, I really want to go back to sleep, think you'll able to keep yourself busy?" Clara asked, placing Nina's glass in the sink to wash later.

"Yeah, sure, I'll probably just watch some Netflix on your couch or something." Nina said, already heading towards her temporary resting place for the night. She was still in her work clothes. Clara shook her head.

"Okay, night." Clara called out to her as she headed back to her room to regain some sleep. She landed on her soft pillow, sighing as she heard the theme song for Blue Bloods coming from the television.

* * *

><p>Clara woke up hours later, wondering if Nina was passed out on the couch or off to do whatever Nina does. But albeit her friend's whereabouts, she woke up with this feeling inside of her stomach that for once in quite a long time, she wanted to bake a soufflé. It wasn't just that she craved the taste of a it; she craved the triumph of actually preparing it correctly for once. She'd always lacked the ability to master the making of the soufflé; every <em>single <em>time, something would go wrong one way or another. Her mother had used to make them for her all the time, she even got the nickname _Soufflé Girl _from her obsession with the things. She'd always wanted to make one, perfectly baked and everything, yet that just hadn't exactly happened yet.

When she toddled into the kitchen that morning, Clara noticed a stack on envelopes on the counter, a bright yellow post-it note atop all of the letters. _Got the post for you. Hope you don't mind; I was bored. _Clara stifled a small laugh, staring at Nina's handwriting in content, then realizing that she remained asleep in her living room, still wearing her work clothes, snoring on her couch. _Makes it easier for me. _Clara shrugged her shoulders slightly, a mere gesture for herself. She pushed the small stack of letters to the side, for she could read them later. She had a few baking obliges to fulfill.

She was in the middle of stirring when she got the call. Her ruby red rotary telephone rung brightly on her kitchen counter as Clara tidied herself up to answer. "Hello?" Clara replied with slight enthusiasm, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Hi, Clara! Doctor here." he said happily, much to Clara's liking.

"Hey Doctor, what's up?" Clara asked, stirring the soufflé batter a bit when a letter caught to the attention of her eye. She then bleakly attempted to open it, the phone receiver tucked in between her ear and shoulder, her tiny hands fumbling with the envelope flap, therefore leaving her in a rather uncomfortable and awkward position.

"I was just wondering, if you maybe wanted to, um, work on the manuscript this Wednesday?" The Doctor asked, maybe just a tad bit too nervous, and though it was a business related conversation, he wasn't one to ask girls things, especially girls like Clara.

"Why Wednesday?" Clara asked yet another question; a question that came out of mere curiosity.

"Because Wednesday's our day; first day we met." he replied nonchalantly, she could almost _feel _him smiling, in a way that seemed as if it would be merely affectionate. Clara smiled a bit at this, she didn't realize that The Doctor was one to look at little things like petty meetings on petty Wednesdays.

"Okay." she smiled. "Wednesdays then."

She then realized that Nina had woken up, and now was severely eying their conversation, much to Clara's surprise and yet blissful amusement. "Great!" The Doctor replied, Nina then immediately staring to walk suspiciously towards Clara.

"Alright, sorry, I, um, I have to go now, so I'll see you Wednesday, bye!" Clara managed to finish her sentence before Nina could hear, slightly banging the phone receiver back on its base as she hung up. She had always been keen for using her fast talking abilities, and usually they came in handy, for occasions such as this. Nina was beside her not too long after, staring at her as if she was expecting some sort of explanation.

"Who was that?" she asked calmly.

"Nobody."

"That was definitely somebody."

"Yes...and he was somebody you don't need to know about."

"Oh, so it was a _he_ then?" She asked suspiciously. Clara grimaced in admittance. "I'm just teasing, go on, have fun with that nice little boyfriend of yours."

"He's not my-"

"Not _yet_." Nina smiled, raising her index finger for clarification, then turning to head out the door. "I'll see you later." she smiled back at Clara.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I don't know, someplace to ponder at the existence of being single." she replied nonchalantly, opening the front door. "Say hi to him for me." she winked, closing the door behind her. Clara laughed a bit and shook her head. Nina could tease when she wanted to, which wasn't a bad thing; she still listened when she needed to.

She glanced down at the phone laying patiently on her kitchen counter, for _Wednesdays _were to become something a little more special.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Eight_**

She sat down on the reupholster chair outside of his office, a slight uncertainty in her stomach from an unforgiving nostalgia. Clara glanced down at her shoes shyly, fumbling with the clasp on her purse and carefully taking out her _Chasing an Infinity _novel and sliding her bookmark out from her page. Her eyes glanced the words printed out along the page, her eyes sprawled out on where to start, her mind lost for a few seconds. Clara obviously didn't know why such an unfocused condition had the best of her; it just seemed as though she couldn't get herself to focus. Maybe it was because of what she was really doing; working on a story that people were eventually going to read in another language, sitting in a place where Clara knew she didn't belong to. Not yet, at least. Clara didn't know what she was doing, where all of this would lead up to, she had the slightest idea. Becoming self-aware was something that stands shocking to everyone, and Clara finally had a minute to realize that, she was getting published. Getting thrown out into a world of people, a world of enthusiasts, a world of critics. Having a chance to spend sixty percent of her free time with The Doctor, or to the rest of the world, John Smith.

The Doctor. She had the slightest clue as to who he was, what he wanted, or where he was going. All she really knew about him was that he apparently had a close relationship with reading, unexplainable science fiction, and his car, for a matter of fact. She knew that his name was John Smith, she knew that he was an authority figure of TARDIS publishers but really, who was he? Clara found it surprising enough that she really cared in the first place. Maybe it was because it seemed as though she'd already had a supposed two dates with the boy and she didn't even know his favorite color. _Dates_, such a stereotypical way of describing things. Clara never liked using the word.

The book lay on her lap, unread, Clara's mind certainly targeted towards something other than what it's pages contained. What Nina had said a few days ago, what she had said about Clara having a particular boyfriend. She was trying to figure out if what she had said was true or not, whether that could actually happen, and at the time, she couldn't see it clearly. The Doctor was nothing to her other than her boss, and Clara couldn't seem to imagine it any other way. _"Not yet." _Nina's voice rang in her ear like a bell, and it scared Clara. She'd, being admitting, had never fancied a boy; they all seemed the same to her. The Doctor, she didn't know what to do with him, where he stood; out of all things, he could be one of those boys. She wasn't sure. That's what scared her. It scared her that she had hesitated with him.

"Good book?" his voice rang in her ear, Clara turning around in surprise to see his prominent chin and gravitational hair. She smiled and carefully closed the book in response, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, I suppose so, just...I guess I can't really focus on reading in a situation like this." she shook her head slightly.

"Like what?" he asked, standing in the doorway of his office, his smile crooked as he stared at her.

"Oh, I think that would be too long of an explanation, Doctor." she smirked back.

"I got time." he admitted, leaning his shoulder on the door frame as an attempt to convince herself of such a matter.

Clara laughed, leaning her head back tiredly on the chair. "I don't know...it's just all going by so fast for me, it seemed as though just a second ago you called me up for the first time, two seconds ago I started writing my mess of words just for fun, and how you actually sought some sort of _potential _in that, when obviously I don't see it." she shook her head and laughed softly.

"You don't see yourself as a writer?" he asked.

"A good one, no." Clara admitted, sighing in content of herself. "I just took sending my mess of words as a joke I guess, never thought you'd actually like it. I know that sounds like I don't see anything in myself, and maybe I do, I don't know. I guess denying that anything good comes from me is just how I cope with things." her voice seemed to lose it's sound as she spoke, as if she was finally realizing that she seemed to deny herself a lot, which was the truth. Clara had never seen herself as some prestigious, successful twenty-four year old; she never took any compliments, she just sort of left them hanging there in thin air, where people left them, and she never took that as a bad thing. Maybe it was.

"Well, maybe that's why I'm here." he finally said.

"Why?" her voice cracked a bit as she said it, then looking down at her shoes shyly, as if she knew what he was going to say.

"To convince you."

"Of what?"

"Of every single compliment that you just don't take." he held his hand out to her, and she raised an eyebrow at his gesture. She'd never been told by someone that they were willing to try to convince her, to make her stop believing that she was never good enough. Clara had always thought that; that people were lying about her being so damned perfect at everything she did, for she knew that everyone had something imperfect about themselves, and she just thought, nothing would ever be good enough. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Offices are just a tad bit too claustrophobic, don't you think?"

* * *

><p>Clara's fingertips grazed the soft blades of grass underneath her, a manuscript of her story laying in her lap. Clara never really considered a park being a place to work on things like editing manuscripts, but you just suppose that people are just plain mistaken for things sometimes. "Blades of grass seem so delicate; I don't understand how they have the ability to pop balloons." Clara admitted, The Doctor laughing lightly at her saying, sitting across from her. "Airplanes seem so abundant of load; I don't understand how they hold their ability to fly." he responded in an overly quirky manner, much to Clara's amusement.<p>

"You know, there are a lot of things we don't understand, maybe we never will, I guess that's just what's so amazing about this world. People, constantly finding things out, but still, there's an infinity of things that we don't know, not yet at least." Clara tilted her head up to the sky, the few clouds that would eventually build up to rain down. She'd probably never know why grass was green, people would say it was because of the chlorophyll, but, then again, why was chlorophyll green? She'd probably never know the meaning of life, or why people hated other people, because really, they all commit the same crimes, maybe some commit more than others, but they all do. That's what she just found so messed up about people sometimes, why hate, when we've all done something wrong?

The Doctor, however, stayed quiet, but looked at her as if to say he was listening. He looked at her as if she was some sort of mystery, to which she was, someone that The Doctor didn't know well enough to trust, and though it may sound impolite, that's just how it was. There were a million other people that he didn't trust, not because he had a particular disliking to them, because he just didn't know them. "Read it." he said simply, indicating towards the stack of papers sitting on her lap.

"Where do you want me to start?" Clara asked, pulling out a blade of grass from the dirt, rubbing it in between her thumb and index finger, then tossing it behind her shoulder with the others.

"You choose, wherever you like."

Clara enjoyed her amount of leeway she had with The Doctor. "Alright then," she responded after a while, flipping through the pages until she came to the page at which she favored reading the most. "Chapter Eleven, then."

"One of my favorites."

"Ah, is that so?" Clara raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Happy to know." she held up the first page to meet her eye level, and started reading. "I had been watching him for a few hours at the least, I couldn't really keep track considering the fact that I had a horrible ability to keep up with the time, and also that I didn't even know what at hour felt like anymore. He had been messing around with a few things in the time being, a few controls, a few robots, I wasn't exactly particular. It was like the asylum was a playground for him, how it was so easy to break off something from somewhere and just _fix _it like he was toying around. I had given him a couple of nicknames in my spare time, which I surprisingly found a tad bit entertaining considering that I had nothing other to do than bake impossible, failure soufflés. For one, I call him Chin Boy. If you got a good look at him, you'd know my motives. Then I'd call him exceptionally clever, because, well, he was. Then, lastly, I call him The Doctor, because he holds the capability to heal things. Call it a commonplace, but I personally favor calling him The Doctor the most; it's one of those things that just fit. So, being me, horribly sassy and interrogating me, and having nothing to do, I decided to say hello.

'Looking for something?' I spoke through the asylum intercom, then to be greeted by The Doctor jumping up in surprise. I stifled a laugh. He looked quite awkward when doing so.

'Who's there?' he spoke, his voice seeming dangerous, yet I could see it as comforting.

'Just a voice. Thought you seemed lonely.' I smiled to myself.

'Have a name?'

I was silent for a few moments, then remembering for the first time in a year that indeed, _I had a name_. I think it's a privilege to have a name, a title; it's like a promise you make, to commit yourself to be known to others as that one specific, and breaking that promise, well, that's just plain irreverence. '...Oswin.' I finally responded. 'You?'

'I don't exactly give my name to strangers.'

'Who says I'm a stranger?'

He smiled in one particular direction, and I smiled back. If only he could see me.

'Where are you talking from?'

'I'm somewhere...underground I think. Crashed in a shipwreck a year ago, been here since.' I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. I was surprised at how long I could withhold myself without interacting with the lines of infinite fatigue; I suppose I just haven't given much thought to it.

'A year? What have you been doing for a year?' he responded, pulling a metal pin from the doorway, inspecting it before putting it back.

'...making soufflés?' I admitted lightly.

He laughed at that. '...where do you get the milk?' he suddenly asked.

I only shrugged my shoulders. 'So, my question, why are you here? This is an asylum, you could get bloody killed-'

'Well you certainly haven't yet, so who says I can't?' he shot back playfully, and I laughed.

'No, but seriously, what are you-' I stopped mid-sentence as a file appeared on my screen. The word _ALERT _stared at me in a way that seemed almost haunting. My hand found its way to the mouse as I clicked on it in confusion, and there it stood in blinking letters of a bright and warning crimson. _PREDATOR ALERT. _I stared back at it for a few seconds, or what seemed like seconds, and I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't know what it was intending to, I sure as hell didn't know what it meant. But after what seemed as though an infinity of looking at the thing, I finally got it. I stared back at The Doctor, in my eyes, now suddenly scared."

Clara sighed and smiled back at The Doctor, _her _Doctor, glad that she could get over a mere page before cracking her voice. "I honestly don't see any good in that." she laughed, laying down on the grass. "When I was writing, I was probably half asleep and had a craving for soufflés, why, _why _do you like it? It's just such an insane and messed up story," she sighed to herself.

"What's wrong with an insane, messed up story?" he asked.

She smiled back up at him in a way to convince him that she wasn't going to answer his question. "I know, this may seem like I'm crazy, but, what's your favorite color?" she asked softly, looking up at him from her place on the grass.

"I quite like a dark shade of blue." he responded, looking up at a cloud that hovered above them. "What's yours?"

"I like red...crimson I guess." she shrugged, a blissful silence in between them for a mere minute.

"Hey, are you coming to the party this weekend...?" he asked, as if he needed a reassurance.

Clara nodded her head. "Yeah, I guess. Nothing else really to do."

He smiled. "That's great." he looked away shyly in a way that made the situation a tad bit awkward, but Clara laughed anyway. "Do you maybe want to, read more while we're at it?"

Clara smiled back. "Yeah, sure."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Ahhh oh my gosh I didn't know that this chapter would be so long. xD Oh well...

Oh and yes, just to point out, the outfit that Clara's wearing in this chapter is the one from _Hide_. I love Clara's outfits, they're just fabulous. :)

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter Nine<em>**

She was considering growing her hair out, maybe add some bangs, a little wavy even; Clara wasn't exactly sure. But as of now, her hair seemed a bit short, shoulder length, _unbelievably _light, much to Clara's convenience and liking. She stood in front of the full length mirror attached to her closet door, patting down a few stray hairs here and there and adjusting her navy blue blazer that framed her tiny physique. Her small hands smoothed out the printed button up dress that she wore; she had no clue as to what type of apparel was expected at this certain birthday party, more particularly, _Rose Tyler's_ birthday party. It just felt sort of, unusual, to go to a birthday party when she didn't even know the girl. Well, she _knew _the girl, but, not in that way. Clara read _Doomsday_, she recognized Rose's blonde hair without a second glance, but she just didn't know her personally. Clara sighed quietly to herself as she tied the laces of her left wedge ankle boot, for she felt as if she would know practically _nobody_ there. Well, with an exception of The Doctor, which was like one percent of entire the population of the party.

Clara glanced down at the tiny box the sat beside her, and taking it into her tiny hands, she opened it. It felt rude not to get Rose Tyler at _least _something decent, as if Rose would know her anyways, at least, that's what Clara suggested. It was a tiny little silver book necklace; Clara thought it was appropriate. She smiled at it before snapping the box shut, tucking it into the inside pocket of her blazer. She stared at the wall for a few moments, thinking to herself, almost not wanting to go. But, well, she promised The Doctor that she would, and Clara was known to keep her promises, no matter how much she didn't want to. She stood up from her place on her bed and grabbed her keys from her desk, making sure to turn off the light before she head out.

* * *

><p>You could say that first impressions meant everything to Clara, and, well, doesn't that rule apply to everyone, at least <em>sometimes<em>? She did a double take to assure herself that indeed, she had gotten the address correct, she was at the right house, this, was _The Doctor's _house. That's when the reality did hit her, the point in which she remembered that this was John Smith she was thinking about. He was a publisher, and an editor, he ran a business, which usually lead to the conclusion of: he was...a little _more _than just some source of wealth. He was opulent.

The driveway circled around a fountain, a gateway at the side of the house allowing access to guests; for goodness sake, her boss was certainly living a lavish lifestyle. _...alright then. _Clara had taken a bus over to the place, making sure that she had gotten off at the right street. Sure, she had to walk a bit, but she didn't mind. She spotted The Doctor talking to another couple at the gate's entrance, him taking a respite when he saw Clara. He waved to her, to which she waved back, him then gesturing her over. Clara smiled sheepishly, approaching him. "Hi John." Clara greeted him politely; she figured that she would be better off using his real name in front of other people, especially people she didn't know. "Hello Clara." he smiled back, giving her an unexpected hug, to which she was rather surprised. Nevertheless she hugged him back, pulling away after a while, him waving the couple goodbye as they entered a rather posh backyard. "Whoa..." Clara mumbled to herself as she took a good look at everything, The Doctor laughing in reply. She hadn't meant for him to hear.

"Some house you've got yourself here..." Clara smirked at him.

"Hah, thanks." he responded. "Hey, thanks for coming Clara, I know you're new and all and it seems persisting-"

"Oh no, it's fine." Clara reassured him. "...but yeah; it'll take a while to get used to all of it." she laughed lightly, looking down at her shoes. Some house it was compared to her quaint little flat.

"You'll be okay, just try and get to know a few people, you've got Rose you can talk to, and Amy's here too," he smiled at her as a reassurance, even though it didn't help Clara's hopes much. He spotted another person getting out of their car, to which he responded by giving them a wave. "I'll meet with you later?" he asked her, and Clara nodded and gave him a small smile in reply. She then proceeded to awkwardly turn around and head into the backyard, where it seemed as everyone had somebody to talk to. Clara sucked in her breath, for a party such as this, well, let's just say that Clara wasn't used to so many people being in one place at once. She suspected that everyone got the feeling eventually, that feeling in which corrupts when you don't know anyone, yet people are watching you and are judging you all the same.

She walked around for a bit, not wanting to seem like one intruding on other's conversations. It was surprising at how many people seemed to know each other so easily. Clara found it rather peculiar. But when she turned around, she was surprised to run into one particular red head girl whom Clara found to be very much familiar, and not in a empirical way. Clara stumbled in slight shock, using the table next to her to steady herself. "Sorry-" she apologized immediately, then looking up to see who it was.

"My bad!" the red head replied, smiling at her. "Sorry, I can be horribly clumsy." she admitted in a strong Scottish accent that Clara had clearly noticed.

"Don't worry." Clara gave a small smile back. "I can too, sometimes."

"I'm Amy." she offered Clara her hand, to which she hesitantly took.

"Amy...Williams?" Clara asked, and the girl nodded her head. "Oh, well hi!" Clara laughed lightly.

"I'm guessing that you know me then...?" Amy asked playfully, smiling at her.

"Yes, gosh, I love your writing." Clara admitted, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I'm Clara, Clara Oswald."

"Oh, thank you!" Amy said, taking her compliment. "And you said Clara? Oswald?" she asked curiously. Clara nodded her head. Amy took a good look at her for a moment, as if she was trying to remember something that she couldn't exactly target. "You're that new author TARDIS is publishing...right?" she asked hesitantly, to which Clara nodded her head as well. "Oh yeah! Now I remember, John emailed me your first chapter, it's brilliant." she shook her head in a somewhat amazed state, to which Clara was rather amazed as well.

"Oh really? He sent that to you?" Clara asked, almost a little bit too shyly.

"Yeah, I can't wait to read the rest of it." Amy smiled brightly, and Clara smiled back. "I can see why John wanted to publish your book so quickly." she winked. Amy seemed friendly, brighter than friendly even, and Clara found it unbelievable that she was so much as _standing_ next to her. Clara had read _Summer Falls_ precisely twenty-seven times, Chapter Eleven a good forty-two, well, that's the number she remembered before she stopped counting."Hey, have you met Rose yet?" Amy asked excitedly. Clara shook her head. "Oh, come on. You're gonna love her!" Amy replied.

"Oh, I dunno-" Clara started sheepishly, not getting a chance to finish before Amy grabbed her wrist, pulling her along and through the crowd of people. "I, uh, Amy!" Clara laughed along, trying to make her way.

"Rose!" Amy called out to her, finally stopping at a nearby table. "Hey, Rose, this is Clara. You know, that new author from TARDIS?" Amy said excitedly as a familiar blonde haired girl looked at her, as if she was trying to take in just an abrupt entrance, but Amy was one to do that. Clara took a good look at Rose, for her hair was short like hers, brown eyes, like hers, and a smile that just made you want to smile too. Clara then noted that _this _was the girl that made her cry constantly whenever she took a mere glance at her book's cover. (Doomsday really incorporated the harsh emotions; everyone knows the feeling.)

"Oh, Clara, hi!" Rose said, smiling at her, standing up from her seat. A somewhat dazed girl stared back at her.

"Hello," Clara said, smiling back a bit shyly. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you! It's really nice to meet you, John's told us a lot about you." Rose laughed lightly. "He talks about you constantly."

"Really?" Clara replied, giving the two a confused look. "Well, I mean, I only met him a few weeks ago-"

"I know." Amy said, nodding her head. "_We _know." she smirked in a somewhat knowing manner. "It's rare to hear John talking about girls, so it was a hell of a lot surprising when he started talking about this brunette by the name of _Clara Oswald_." Amy smiled in her direction, the conversation between them silent for a second or two before Clara finally got the picture.

"Oh, gosh guys, no!" Clara admitted, laughing along with the two. "I-It's not like that, it's actually _far _from...that." she nodded her head, almost as if it acted as a bleak reassurance. She really couldn't picture that sort of relation with her and The Doctor, but then again she really didn't know much about the topic of 'relationships' in the first place.

Rose nodded her head as if she understood. "It's just that...John's been acting somewhat...easy going now that you've come along, and we just tease him about it."

"Like a lot," Amy added, laughing.

Clara laughed softly for a moment, doing what she had grown so used to doing, denying. "Easy going? I can picture that. But it's not because of me."

"Oh, come on." Amy grinned, nudging her.

Rose looked up at the sky, as if she were thinking. "He'd just seem so _excited_ when he'd talk about you, you know?" Rose said as if she couldn't hold it in, her smile broad.

Clara, however, couldn't do anything but blush. "I have to go use the restroom, I'll...talk to you guys later?" Clara asked, the girls nodding in reply. "Okay, it was great meeting you guys!" Clara smiled, heading towards the house.

"You too!" they both called out in unison.

As she pushed her way through all of the people there, Clara stopped by a table in which she supposed held the main purpose of displaying gifts. (Well, an estimate of fifty gift bags and twenty wrapped packages gives you a pretty clear clue, right?) So without a word, Clara looked around to to make sure that nobody was watching as she carefully took out the little box from the inside of her blazer and dropped it into a nonspecific gift bag. Nobody needed to know.

Afterwords, Clara carefully slipped inside of the house, closing the back door behind her and heaving a sigh. In all honesty, she didn't need to go to the restroom; she just needed to be alone. It wasn't that she didn't like Amy and Rose, she actually thought that she had a good chance of being friends with them, it's just that she really didn't feel like she belonged in that type of atmosphere. In an atmosphere of authors, entrepreneurs, and other opulent people sipping alcoholic beverages from flute glasses that Clara didn't feel like talking to; it seemed like she was a little girl in a crowd of adults. And being a little girl, Clara felt a strong urge to maybe explore a lavish house for once, for she certainly wouldn't get another chance, or so it had seemed.

So, pushing her back off of the door, Clara walked as many other people do, one foot in front of another. What room she currently stood in seemed along the lines of dining parlor, if she could even call it that. Wooden upholster chairs aligned the long wooden table, paintings with unknown names hung on the papered walls, and there was something unusual about everything, something that Clara couldn't exactly put her finger on. Nevertheless she continued walking and eventually came into a long hallway, the only sound she could hear were the sounds of her feet on the hard wood floor. She then spotted a doorway into a large, and _definitely _pretentious personal library. "Now that's just showing off..." Clara muttered to herself, smiling and shaking her head as she continued on.

Clara walked door after door, not even taking a first glance at each because she knew she would do nothing but stare and gape and stand there wide-eyed. After a while she eventually retreated back to the dining parlor, then noticing something different this time. In the corner of her eye, she spotted another room, one that caught her attention. As she approached it, a grand piano came into her view, it being the only thing in such an isolated room. She gave a small smile to it, tracing lines along its dust covered surface, proof that it hadn't been opened in what seemed as ages. She then carefully sat down on its bench, the wood creaking, as she delicately opened the piano to see its beautiful, pristine keys. Clara loved seeing grand pianos in miscellaneous places, and even more so she loved playing on them. She played a middle C, surprised at how it was still in tune. She smiled to herself, playing a few scales at a time. It was nice, the piano, a good dusting and all and it could be in a perfect condition.

After what it had seemed like an endless playing of scales, then followed by her debating on whether or not she should play something, taking into consideration that she scarcely saw pianos like this. She started playing _Sarabande d'Amour _by Catherine Rollin, something short yet sweet from the top of her head, and besides, she loved playing it, and it sounded even better on a grand piano rather than her little electric. The pedal was rather heavy, yet that's how all grands were, and how Clara wished she could have one of her own. The notes rolled out of the piano one after another, Clara smiling in between breaths at how pretty it sounded. It was less than two minutes when taken its time, its notes only occupying the space of two pages, in other words, it was a short piece; yet it was so lovable. When Clara played it's last note, she smiled to herself in light content.

"I had been starting to wonder where you were." The Doctor said behind her as she turned around in surprise, him smiling at her kindly. "You play beautifully."

"Thank you." Clara said softly, smiling back at him. "Do you play...?" she then proceeded to ask, wondering why he had a piano in the first place.

He shook his head in reply. "No, the piano's my mum's." he said, to which Clara nodded her head. "She died a while back; I still get it tuned though every six months, I don't know why, just seems right."

Clara looked at him, her eyes softening. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. You're welcome to play it anytime you want."

"...thank you."

"You're welcome."

Clara looked down at the floor. "...yeah, my mum died too, when I was younger; she really taught me a lot about writing."

"She must have been a lovely woman."

Clara nodded her head slightly. "She was."

After that, a moment of blissfully awkward silence rose up in the walls of the room, more blissful than awkward. "You don't want to go outside?" The Doctor offered. Clara simply shook her head.

"No, I'm sorry, it's just that..." she trailed off, thinking to herself for a moment. "I feel like I don't belong out there, with all those types of people, you know?" she smiled at him. "And besides, I'd rather stay here, as weird as that sounds." she replied quietly, looking up at the ceiling.

"It's okay." he replied, nodding his head. "I got it." he gave her one more smile before heading out. "And Clara," he said as she turned around from the piano bench again. "I know I've said this before, and let me say it again, you're really something different, I want you to know that." he grinned at her.

She smiled back. "Thank you, Doctor." she said quietly as she saw him exit out the back door, back into the crowd of people in which she didn't know, a crowd of people that weren't like her, not yet, at least. So she turned back to the piano and started playing again from memory, her mind seeming to drift farther and farther away from where she was.

* * *

><p>She hadn't realized that she had been sleeping. More or less, she didn't even remember that she had fallen asleep in the first place. Clara woke up with a start, becoming very much aware of the fact that she was laying down on a chaise lounge, but the thing was, it wasn't <em>her <em>chaise lounge, nor her flat. She took into her surroundings and finally realized that yes, she was still at The Doctor's house, and yes, she had probably fallen asleep while playing. In her defense, melodic tunes easily make one weary, even if their the one playing the piano (One with experience would comprehend). Her eyes immediately took interest into the watch on her wrist, the hands pointing to eleven o'clock at night. Last time she checked it was what, nine? _Had I been asleep for that long? _She thought to herself.

"I didn't know you'd be sleeping that long." The Doctor laughed lightly. He was seated at his desk on the opposite side of the room, wearing a pair of round glasses and reading a book.

"I...sorry." Clara admitted, taking notice into the baby blue blanket that lay atop of her.

"It's alright." The Doctor persisted, turning a page.

"Is the party still going on?"

"Yep."

"Well then, why aren't you out there?"

"Eh, I got kind of tired, and besides, everyone's out there getting drunk and I didn't want to join in." he remarked.

Clara laughed. "Well...if you're not doing anything, can you maybe...give me a ride home?" she asked hesitantly as he looked up from his book. He then stared at her for a moment, as if he were thinking ever so carefully, which only made Clara smile. "I don't really feel like drinking either..."

"Yeah, sure." he said after a while, closing his book and placing it at the desk beside him.

* * *

><p>After getting into the passenger seat of Handels and watching The Doctor get in beside her was when Clara finally realized something. "Doctor...you don't have any family living with you do you?" Clara asked carefully, not wanting to sound in any way impolite. She then shook her head. "I'm sorry if that sounded rude-"<p>

"No, it's fine." he interrupted her, a strong conviction in his voice. "But no, I don't."

_So he lives alone then. _Clara thought to herself, almost feeling a little sorry for him. "Does it ever seem...oh I don't know...lonely though sometimes?" she asked quietly as they pulled out of the driveway, his house illuminating with lawn lights and porch lanterns. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a lovely house, but...all by yourself...seems like a flat would seem more fitting."

The Doctor sighed, smiling at Clara. "Yeah, I know." he admitted. "I'd much rather prefer a flat than my own house, as bizarre that sounds." he replied, turning at a curb. "But I get out a lot, so I don't really mind I suppose."

Clara looked out the window, nodding her head slowly. "Have you ever been in a flat?"

The Doctor shrugged sheepishly. "No..." he grinned.

Clara smiled, laughing a bit. "You're not serious."

"I'm as serious as I'll ever be." he admitted.

Clara bit her bottom lip, watching the cars and street lights pass by. It just seemed so peculiar, that The Doctor had never experienced of living in a tiny little place. Clara loved it; having her own little place for herself. The kitchen and bedroom were of short walking distance from one another."Tell you what," she said. "Next Wednesday, instead of meeting up at a park or in your office, I'll have you come over to my place, and I can cook one of the things I actually know how to make without burning myself." she offered, The Doctor laughing softly in response.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm positive."

"...okay then." he finally admitted to going along with her plan. Clara smirked. "Turn here?" he asked, and Clara nodded. After a few minutes of direction to her flat, he finally stopped at the right place. "So, this is what flats look like." he said in an amazed tone of voice that Clara couldn't exactly decipher, yet she laughed at him at how childish he sounded.

"Thanks for driving me home."

"No problem. See you next Wednesday?"

Clara smiled at him as she opened the car door slightly, then turning again to face The Doctor, hesitating a moment before kissing his cheek. "See you next Wednesday." she smiled at him as he blushed, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten**_

He sat on the edge of her powder blue sofa, freely taking a look around Clara's flat. The walls were painted a subtle sea-foam green, fairy lights strung around her painted white window frames with the curtains drawn together. And since Clara was living alone, she mainly ate at the kitchen bar, leaving the intentional dining room for a miniature personal library. Two bookcases lined the walls parallel from one another, a microfiber recliner sitting in between. He stared at the small table next to it, a home of a small lamp and a tea mug for the time being. The place just seemed so, comforting and yet it was so tiny. Over the counter, Clara gave a small smile to herself as she saw him look around. "I know, the place is kind of...small, but I like it." she nodded slightly, taking a pan out of the oven.

The Doctor only nodded, his eyes focused on the coffee table in front of him. Underneath a book there was an open musician's catalog, so The Doctor carefully pulled it out from underneath the book and took a quick glance at it. On page 38, a Schoenhut 49 Key Pro Baby Grand Piano in red was circled with a blue pen. It looked pretty, until he looked at the price, which wasn't that attractive. He stared at it for a few seconds, then taking a notice into the math problems scrawled down the right-hand side of the page. Clara had been trying to save up for it, and she was almost halfway there.

"Okay, I think I did this right." she said, a minor assurance for herself.

"What did you make?" The Doctor asked curiously, carefully placing the catalog back underneath the book.

"I just stuck a pan of macaroni in the oven and practically drenched it in cheese." she laughed lightly. "Yeah, I'm not much of a chef than I am a pianist, or a writer, I guess." she admitted, fanning the pan with her oven mitt. The Doctor only smiled in reply, a hint of amusement in his grin. After a while, when Clara could actually hold the pan without getting herself burned, she placed it on the counter and motioned for The Doctor to sit. "So...unless you have an unforgivable phobia of sharing, or have an obsession with personal space, you won't mind just...eating out of the pan would you?" Clara asked, holding up two forks. The Doctor smiled.

"I honestly wouldn't mind." he assured her, sitting down on the bar stool. Clara smirked in reply, sliding a fork down the counter. He carefully picked it up and took a bite out of the cheese drenched pasta, nodding his head slightly. "Hey, it's not bad." he offered. Clara laughed.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked, sitting down next to him.

"Well, by what I've heard from you, it sounds like you don't cook much."

"I don't." she admitted, twirling the fork in between her fingers. "But, when I do, I try." she nodded her head.

"...and to answer your question, yes, it's supposed to be a compliment."

Clara smiled up at him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Good to know." she replied, violently stabbing the macaroni with her fork. She bit the fork in between her teeth, as if she was rating herself and her cooking skills. After a while, she nodded her head slowly. "Decent." she said, seeming satisfied. The Doctor smiled back at her, eating a little more before he stood up from his seat, walking over to her personal library. She eyed him curiously as she ate, him scanning the books carefully. His fingers brushed over the spines of each book, reading each title.

"Have you read all of these?" he asked.

"Every one." Clara smiled. She never put a book on there if it wasn't read word for word. He gave her a rather astonished and yet admiring smile. "What?" she laughed. "I guess...I just have a lot of free time, that's all." she shook it off like it was nothing. Yet The Doctor kept looking at her for a while, until he finally drew his attention to one particular book on the shelf. He carefully took it out, looking at its cover before carefully opening it.

"_I go to seek a great perhaps_." he cited, reading from the book's inside page.

Clara recognized the saying from anywhere. "That's...Looking for Alaska, John Green...right?" she asked him.

"Yeah...never read it."

"You should." Clara smiled. "_I go to seek a great perhaps_; those were the last words of François Rabelais, and, in the story, Pudge is inspired for this...great perhaps. He's kind of big on last words."

"His name is Pudge?" The Doctor asked.

"Well, his real name is Miles...you'll get it if you read it." Clara nodded, laughing.

The Doctor laughed back. "You wouldn't mind if I borrowed it, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't mind, go right on ahead." Clara replied. A sudden respite and loss for words seemed to appear between the two, smiles and slight nods of heads as a sign that they were still in the conversation. "Um..." Clara finally said. "We should...get to work on the manuscript." she finally said, hopping from her bar stool and falling on the couch. The Doctor hastily agreed out of slight shyness, grabbing the pan to take along with him. He placed it on the coffee table as Clara laughed. "Like it that much?"

The Doctor merely shrugged. He sat down next to her, maybe a little too close, and Clara did become very much aware of that, yet she didn't mind. "You know, Oswin should have some great last words of her own, to finish off her dialogue." he thought, looking at the ceiling.

"Such as...?" Clara asked.

He didn't answer. She then flipped through the pages of the manuscript and finally came to the last page, reading the final paragraphs.

_It was one of those things that just came by a whim, something that I wasn't intending on doing, something that I didn't even mean to do, yet it just felt so right. 'I'm taking down the force field. They've already begun they're attack, run.' I half-reprimanded, half-screamed at him. I suddenly knew what I was doing. Reality had hit me, and yet, I didn't find a need to cry. They weren't real tears, after all. 'Oswin,' he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. 'Are you-'_

_'I'm Oswin, Doctor. I fought the Daleks and I am human.' I reassured him, gritting my apparently nonexistent teeth. 'Remember me...' I said quietly, him giving me another look in the eye. I started back at him. I knew that he couldn't see me. I knew that everything, my hands, my red sneakers, hell, even the milk was just a cover that hid the metal parts of what I had become, what they had turned me into. 'Thank you.' he told me. And I knew that The Doctor was real, he was a monster and yet he cared about me, something that nobody ever had the time to do. And I knew that we could never really have a life together, I knew that he couldn't save me, and yet...he loved me. 'Run.' I repeated myself, desperately wanting him to leave, and not for my sake, but for his. He was the last face I would ever see, and giving me another look, he turned around and did as I said. He ran._

_It was at the point in which I smiled at myself, sitting back in my chair in satisfaction. I knew what I was doing, I knew that I was going to be blown up into a million pieces by the time this was over, and somehow, I was okay with that. _Clara finished, sighing to herself. "Yeah..." she finally said. "I need some sort of...ending line..." she trailed off, tapping the stack of papers with her fingers, thinking to herself. "...hey, how about this..." Clara said quietly, taking a pen from the coffee table and removing its plastic cap with her teeth, quickly scribbling down a rather morbid ending line. _So as I let the light of my death envelop the metal parts that had protected me for the past three hundred sixty-three days of my life, I said quietly to him, knowing that he would never hear me,  
><em>

Clara bit her lip, for last words were important. But then again, things best came to her when she just winged it. "...run...you clever boy...and remember." Clara finally came up with, scribbling the words down on the page, as if she were to lose them if she weren't to write any faster. She hastily gave her papers to The Doctor, apparently who had a mouth full of macaroni to deal with. Clara laughed at him. "How much are you eating?" she swatted him in the arm, grabbing her fork and eating some for herself. His mouth still full, he read what Clara had written down.

"It's really good." he mumbled.

"The pasta...or the book?" she asked.

He swallowed. "Both."

Clara nodded in approval. "Maybe I should cook more often." she suggested to herself, looking at her watch to see what time it was. It was nearly seven. "Oh gosh...Doctor...I kind of have to go to work...like...right now...I'm sorry." she admitted, standing up from the couch and smoothing out her skirt.

"It's alright. I can give you a ride if you want." he offered. "Would you mind if I stayed with you? I have nothing to do tonight anyways."

"Well, considering that I work at a restaurant and you ate like seventy-two percent of the pasta, I suppose that you won't be that occupied there." Clara laughed.

"Oh don't worry. I can read." he smiled at her.

"Really?" Clara smiled softly. "Thanks..." she said, grabbing her coat from the front closet. "Oh, yeah, would you mind getting my piano binder from my room? It's on the desk." she asked earnestly, The Doctor giving her a thumbs up in reply. He headed towards her room, opening the door to the sight of a millennial of vintage traveling posters. He stared at them all in surprise, cites like New York and Paris the ones that stood mainly self-explanatory, then paintings of New Orleans and Amsterdam that hung above her desk. The Doctor took a certain interest into a particular book on her bed, the title reading _101 Places to See_, what looked as though a pretty old book, the front image faded and the corners slightly bend and rippd. He carefully picked it up and opened the front cover, the first page holding in a leaf, the words _Property of Clara Oswald _written in a child-like handwriting, numbers of her age sprawled down the side of the page. He smiled to himself, closing the book and placing it back on her bed. He located her piano binder and grinned at all of the pictures on her wall, quietly walking out and turning off the light.

"I never knew that you wanted to travel," he said, handing Clara her binder.

"Oh, you saw all of the...?" Clara asked. The Doctor nodded. "Yeah." she grinned. "I've always wanted to go places, just...I never really put much thought into it I guess." she nodded, hugging the binder to her chest, sighing. "Someday...maybe." she said quietly. "Ready to go?" she asked.

He nodded. "Let's go." he said, walking with her out the door and silently closing it behind him.

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><p><strong>AN: **...foreshadowing. It's a beautiful thing. ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Apologies for not updating this weekend! Cute little chapter here for you all, Amy and Rose investigate a bit...

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Eleven<em>**

She woke up to the sound of vibrations.

Clara's eyes refused to open as her brain turned on with a sudden jerk of surprise as her left hand slammed down on the surface of her bedside table, her hand blindly searching for her phone as her muscles had just started to wake up. Her hair was tousled and stuck in various places about her head, her blankets and pillows askew and lopsided around her bed. (Sometimes Clara wasn't the _most _peaceful sleeper, with trying to find the perfect sleeping position and all.) She groaned in torpidity as her eyes adjusted to the light of the screen, the number unfamiliar to Clara. "Hello?" she said tiredly, sitting up in her bed and raking her fingers until they became matted within the mess that was her neglected hair.

"Hi Clara, it's Amy!" her ebullient Scottish accent waking her up even more so. "I got you're number from John, I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, nah. It's alright." Clara replied, yawning as quietly as her mouth could manage.

Amy laughed softly. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" she asked.

Clara looked over to the clock on her bedside table and realized that it was around ten in the morning. "Eh, no...I'm awake..." she trailed off, her consciousness fading away and her eyes pleading to shut as she then regained her focus, snapping awake suddenly. "...sorry..." she admitted, giving in, giggling along with Amy.

"I was just wondering if you'd like to join me for lunch this afternoon." Amy asked politely. Clara coughed.

"Oh, really?" she asked, a bit surprised."Oh, um...sure, just, where?"

"There's that new sidewalk café down town, I think it's called the The Grove...? I really can't remember, but I can text you the address." she offered.

"Okay." Clara nodded her head.

"I'll see you in an hour?"

"Yeah, see you." Clara smiled, hanging up and replacing her phone neatly on the bedside table. She stared at the opposite wall, which apparently contained a poster of Istanbul, at which point she realized that she had agreed to lunch with Amy Williams. _Amy Williams. _Clara crashed down back onto the mattress of her bed, now looking up at the ordinary ceiling that happened to contain no poster of Istanbul, but a habitual dust layered ceiling fan. Clara smiled, raising an eyebrow, somewhat impressed with herself.

* * *

><p>The Doctor snored loudly on his chaise lounge, he'd fallen asleep with a book laying carelessly on his stomach, for that's usually how he'd find himself awake in the mornings on a Saturday when his presence wasn't required at TARDIS. But this time, a certain colleague somehow made the difference of his Saturday rituals, a certain <em>blonde <em>colleauge. "John! Up, _now!_" Rose yelled across the room in a cheerleader's voice, her call echoing and bouncing off of the papered walls. John's eyes snapped opened immediately as he found himself falling from his current position on his couch. "Wha-?" he managed to sputter out before he landed face flat on the hard wood floor, his limbs certainly not hurt but placed in rather awkward positions. "H..." he sighed. "How did you get in?" he asked her tiredly as he heard the sizzle of his stove, unwilling to move from his place on the ground.

"Your brother's keys." she called nonchalantly from the kitchen. John groaned, getting up slowly and toddling towards her voice. His brother David was Rose's supposed 'significant other', and that meant that Rose was technically a part of his somewhat happy family, which technically gave her rights to barge in on his life whenever her heart contented. John found it surprising that Rose actually got up to make him breakfast, but then again she was considered a friendly sister figure to him. But then again, she always did nice things for him when she particularly _wanted _something.

Once in the kitchen, John lazily sat down on the bar stool of his counter, his posture slackening as she placed a plate of french toast in front of him, perfectly made to pristine conditions and all. John stared at her blankly. "What do you want?" he asked her simply.

Rose gave a sarcastic look, as if she were offended of such sudden interrogation. "Nothing! I just decided,_ hey_, John's maybe been working a little too hard and I think I should reward my boss with a well-deserved breakfast." she smiled at him as a sign of positivity, but John certainly wasn't seeing it. Yet Rose, being the persistent optimist that she was, continued to smile in hopes of him believing in her idiosyncratic alibi. John raised an eyebrow. Rose sighed. "Oh, come on, lighten up." she pouted a bit. "_Sometimes_, on the days when David's working, I need someone to talk to! About...life." she smiled, saying the word _life _in a wistful manner. John looked at her suspiciously, taking a bite out of his awaiting toast, which was surprisingly not bad. "So, with that said, let's do so over the coffee and toast that I made ever so beautifully, shall we?" she piped, leaning her elbows on the counter and staring at him with an over excessive interest. "So? How's work?"

"Fine."

"Any new stories?"

"Besides Clara's, no."

"Done anything interesting?"

"Not really."

"Watched any good movies?"

"Nah."

"Read the newspaper?"

"Not recently."

"Have you _done _anything of _us_e?_"_

"I don't know."

Rose quirked an eyebrow, wanting to sigh at him from her exasperation and unwillingness to cooperate. "Are you sure? _Nothing _at all?" Rose grinned. "Not even with Miss Clara...?"

John glared at her. "Is that what this is about?"

Rose smiled. "It can if you want it to be!" she chirped. "_Oh_, you know you like her."

"I don't like her, well, I mean, I _like _her, but not _like _her like her." he blushed.

Rose gasped. "How could you be missing out on such a sweet girl?" Rose cried. "She's pretty, she's smart, she's the _perfect _height for you-"

"Rose, I do _not _fancy Clara-"

"John, you look at her like Jack stares at margaritas."

He sputtered. "I do not!"

Rose smiled deliberately. "You know you do."

He raised his index finger as if to object even more so, then realizing that, well, maybe Rose was right. And when she saw the look of defeat on his face, she clapped her hands and pointed at him in triumph, the same reaction she would've used if she had just hit him in the face with a dodge ball. "_Ha!_ I knew it!"

"Rose-"

"_You_ fancy her."

"Rose-!"

"You need to ask her out on a date." she shook her head.

"And she would say _no_." John turned down the offer.

"She sure as hell would say _yes!_" Rose chirped, a wide smile displayed on her face. "God, she can _blush_ when we talk about you-"

"Blush?"

"Yeah, you know that thing that happens when you _really like _somebody?" she asked. John just looked confused. "...caused by the stimulus of discomposure and performed by the sympathetic nervous system?" she recited hopelessly, for scientifically speaking seemed like the only type of "speaking" he could understand. Rose sighed. "Listen, John, if you really like her, you'd _tell _her by now."

John looked down sheepishly. "But I'm just not...good at those kinds of things."

"Well, that's why I'm here!"

John looked up at her suspiciously. "How many cups of coffee have you had?" he asked her out of the blue, for Rose had her mornings when she tended to act over excessively hyper due to the superfluity of caffeine. Rose shrugged.

"I dunno? Two, maybe more. I'm not counting."

* * *

><p>"So, what's going on with you and John?" Amy asked at an intentional moment of silence in their conversation. Clara almost spit out her decaf. "What?" she asked all of a sudden.<p>

"...I'm...talking about the book." Amy smiled knowingly. That was a lie.

"Oh..." Clara sighed, a bit relieved. "Yeah, it's going well, I suppose."

Yet Amy had already pushed aside any conversational book-dealing matters. "...were you suggesting at something else?"

Clara shook her head too soon. "Oh, no."

"I think you were."

"No...I wasn't."

Amy smiled. "Clara...are you and John...?"

"...no."

"You hesitated."

Clara sighed. "Amy...I don't know!" she smiled at her in slight defeat. "Maybe I do, maybe I like him, I just...don't really know what 'liking someone' feels like."

"Well..." Amy said. "What do you _think _it feels like?"

"It feels...different."

Amy smiled sympathetically. "Clara, it's alright, it's not...scary to fall in love, as _cliché _as it sounds." she laughed. Clara smiled. "John...as much of an idiot he can be, he needs someone to talk to sometimes, and it's not me, it's not...Rose, I don't have a definite answer. It might be you, you know." she admitted, smiling warmly. Clara bite her lip.

"I just don't think he'd agree with me on that one Amy."

Amy smiled, raising her eyebrow. "Oh, the things that can surprise you."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This chapter is rather...fluffy I should say. I would personally like to give some credit to one of my previous English teachers, only because they were fantastic at explaining. So, for when you don't recognize a few terms that I mention in this chapter, I can explain somewhat.**

**Kill your darlings - (Lol I know, morbid...) This refers to the elimination of an author's favorite elements in a story. **

**Dead words - (I know, morbid.) Words such as _things, __stuff,_ and _nice_. You get the point. I use them all the time.  
><strong>

**Anyways, I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed so far! It means so much to me. You all are fabulous!**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>_

One week later, Clara had woken up with a deafening posture and a weak bearing of herself, feeling heavily congested and more or less disgusting; so it wasn't obscure that she was clearly sick. The Kleenex box of tissues had now become her new best friend. Clara moaned in exasperation, for she hated having to be ill. Clara was one to keep herself rather preoccupied at all necessary times, and getting herself into an everlasting headache and feeling disgustingly congested was the principal drain of her energy. And what made her feel even more disappointed was that it was a Wednesday. Yes, Wednesday had rolled around yet again, and this time Clara couldn't even get up from her sofa. She had tried to pass the time with some reading, only to the disadvantage of her eyes watering every other second from the congestion. Clara grunted in frustration as she wiped her eyes with her blanket, almost wanting to throw the book across the room. So, then realizing that she could only perform two of her five senses, she decided to call The Doctor to inform him of her absence.

"Hey Clara, are you coming?" he asked without her getting the chance to say hello.

Clara bit her lip. "I'm...I'm sorry Doctor, I can't today. I'm sick." she shook her head, twirling a piece of hair around her finger nervously.

There was a slight pause. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

"No, Doctor. I'm fine, really. I just need some rest." she sighed. "I really hate doing nothing, though." she complained playfully, her voice clearly sounding weak.

"Well to don't sound too well, maybe I should come over-"

"No, please. I don't want to get you sick-" she protested, her words doing little use to its entire ideal of denial.

"No! I'll be alright Clara, I'm sure of it. See you!" he interrupted, and with that, he hung up. Clara frowned at bit in perplexity, staring at her phone blankly before hesitantly placing it beside her. She giggled a bit, smiling to herself, laying back down on the assortment of pillows propped up for her convenience. It would be nice to have someone over, somebody to talk to; and maybe that's just what she needed.

And as she suspected, he rang her doorbell precisely twenty-two minutes later, Clara resentfully having to get up herself and toddle over to open it to allow him inside. He smiled at her brightly, wanting to wave but to the disadvantage of his hands being full with grocery bags. Clara eyed them suspiciously, her left hand on the door frame as she attempted to smile back with the little energy she had. "Hi Doctor, listen, you really didn't have to do any of this." she claimed.

"Well, I didn't want you to be lonely on a day like this, and besides, I brought ice cream." he teased, Clara giggling. "We don't have to work today, I promise. We can just talk, and eat, and watch movies, and then repeat." Clara finally found a reason to smile for once in a few days, slightly nodding her head in reply. "..okay." She finally let him come in, quickly apologizing for her laziness to pick up for herself, for the last few days she had felt like a disoriented slug. She immediately crashed herself down on the sofa yet again, wrapping the blankets around her tiny physique and watching him carefully as he placed everything on her kitchen counter, pulling things out one by one. "Cough drops, Tylenol, aspirin, the list goes on and on-_ooh_ look Instant Noodles!" he said excitedly, holding up the package for her to see, Clara smiling in reply. Basically, he just did the groceries for her. She felt nice that someone had come to give her a bit of company for the day, or that someone even _cared _about her in the first place. "Doctor...you don't need to cook for me, honestly." she grinned, shaking her head.

"Well, let's just consider this my compensation to you for cooking for _me_." he said, trying to open the pack of noodles, having a rather difficult time managing its somewhat invincible plastic wrapping. "Even though Instant Noodles is nowhere near your cooking." he added sheepishly, and to his surprise, finally managed to tear apart the packaging. "Okay...Clara where do you keep the pans?" he asked, looking around as if he seemed clearly lost.

"Beside the dishwasher." she clarified. It was rather entertaining seeing The Doctor cook, for it certainly didn't seem as though he did it often. He stumbled around the kitchen, looking for certain bowls and such, occasionally pulling something out of her cupboard to smell it, as if he didn't know what saltine crackers were until then. She watched him place the ice cream in her freezer and the medicine in the proper cabinets, turning on the stove after a few minutes worth of trying. "Ow!" he cried as the got slightly burnt by the hot water, sucking on his thumb as Clara laughed at how amusingly clumsy he could be. "Is it that difficult to make a bowl of Instant Noodles?" Clara teased. It seemed like a challenge to him, occasionally poking the contents of the pot with a wooden spoon. And Clara couldn't really do anything but stifle her laughs. "Doctor...I know that you didn't want me talking about work...but you know how editors tend to take out the book's most favored information of the author?" she paused slightly, adopting a look of slight distaste at the fact that she sounded like a student asking something from her teacher. "Why...why don't you do that?"

He stopped to consider it for a moment. "You know the term _kill your darlings?_"

"...yes."

"I hate that rule."

"Why?"

"_Because _Clara Oswald, haven't you realized? The stories I like to publish are stories that I think are insane. I only add to them, not take away for the purpose of it making it sound anything ordinary. And besides, why would you want to kill your darlings?" he gave her a slight look of puzzlement. "If that's what you like the most in your book, then it deserves to stay there." he stated, poking the air with the wooden spoon for emphasis.

Clara nodded her head slowly, for it made sense enough. "So, like the absurdness of soufflés?"

"Exactly like the absurdness of soufflés."

Clara never exactly understood the term _to kill your darlings, _she always found it to be rather confusing, and hell, she was sure that others could object to her opinions, and she didn't mind. "Opinion on figurative language?"

"Oh, love it."

She smiled. "I thought so." she thought for a moment. "Do you have a tendency to use dead words?"

"Those kinds of things are stuff that aren't very nice."

Clara laughed. "I see them as words that are terrible at describing, but they allow leeway that gives you possibilities."

"Fabulous way of putting it, Miss Oswald."

"If I do say so myself, Mr. Smith." she raised an eyebrow.

After many rather amusing minutes of watching The Doctor attempt to cook, he finally set a tray on her lap, a small bowl of ramen noodles and a glass of water sitting patiently, along with a small medicine cup with a Tylenol pill. She took her fork and ate it hungrily, The Doctor looking at her a bit sheepishly off in the corner of the room, as if he had no where else to go. "So...? What do you think?" he asked. Clara smiled, her eyes seeming almost apologetic. "If only I could taste it," she admitted, laughing lightly. "But I bet it tastes lovely." she smiled, at which point he smiled back. She patted the seat next to her, The Doctor accepting her invitation to sit down, Clara grabbing her television remote and flipping through channels for something decent to watch. "I usually don't even watch television, so it's kind of weird to slow things down a bit, you know?"she shook her head in astonishment. The Doctor only nodded his head. "Well anyways," she continued. "Thank you for making me lunch, I certainly wouldn't have don't it myself," she laughed lightly, a fork in one hand and the remote in another, flipping through the channels that seemed uninteresting. "Hell, I could kiss you right now if I weren't so sick." she stuck her tongue out at him playfully. His face seemed to blush a slight red.

"I have a few DVDs we could try watching," she suggested. "A few Nicholas Sparks, nah you wouldn't like that, I own a few Disney animations, a few old movies too, Back to the Future-" she stopped mid-sentence, the look he was giving her clearly giving away his consent to the idea. "...alright then," she smiled, setting down the tray beside her and toddling towards her shelf of DVD cases, carefully scanning the row of discs before sliding out the right one, delicately placing it into the DVD player. She returned back to her seat and continued eating as the movie began, the voices from the television and the slurping of her ramen noodles the only noises she could hear.

Clara was a fast eater when it came to her infinite sickness fatigue, so after a few minutes she eventually placed the tray on the table beside her, wrapping the white blanket around her shoulders. She looked at The Doctor for a few moments, wondering how with everything he did he somehow had time for her, it just seemed as though he always had time for her. It didn't make sense. She smiled to herself, eventually laying her head down on his lap, sighing. "Thank you for this." she muttered.

"You're welcome." he smiled back, hesitating before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He continued to play with her hair quietly, and Clara didn't mind. It was nice for once to not really worry about anything, just watching sci-fi with the girl he technically fancied, even though he started having thoughts of the possibilities that she might fancy him back. Though it wasn't exactly a romantic kind of relationship, it was the type of relationship in which you loved somebody because they're best friends together, and that's all that The Doctor really wanted. He wanted a friend that he knew would stay. It felt different.

It felt unusual.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: This chapter includes a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe, all rights go to him for his lovely writing! :D**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Thirteen<em>**

Needless to say, as the days passed by, Rose's words kept playing back like a disoriented record player inside of his brain, which was the most annoying yet persisting thing he had to put up with. _"Oh, you know you like her." _Rose had said, giving him that small little quirky grin whenever she had proven him wrong. He wanted to ask her, of course he did, he just didn't know how without sounding too demanding or slightly peculiar. Demanding and slightly peculiar was his thing.

She came into his office two Wednesdays later, wearing a warm argyle sweater vest that framed her tiny physique, her hair pulled into a tiny bun as she sat down on his office couch, smoothing out her skirt as he popped up his question. "Feeling any better?" he asked. Clara nodded her head in reply, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly. "Yeah, much better." she smiled, although it was an unconvincing grin, laying down and tucking the throw pillow underneath her head. "Just..." she paused to yawn. "...tired." she finished. She looked and sounded better, but the way she spoke seemed almost perturbed.

"Too tired to work?" The Doctor asked. She looked uneasy, and he didn't know why.

"Maybe, I dunno." she stuck her tongue out at him as she looked out the opposite window, watching the rain drops fall onto the glass, almost demanding themselves to be let in. It had been pouring for the last few days, thunderstorms and lightning strikes roaring amongst the streets. She looked stiff.

"Clara, are you okay?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm fine." She seemed to be assuring herself more than him.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm alright, really Doctor." she closed her eyes. "Can you...read to me?" she asked as if she was a little girl again, staring at him sitting down at his desk. He smiled at her for a moment, admiring her child-like manner of being rather sleepy. And suddenly, the thunder roared, causing Clara to wince, hiding her face in her shoulder, sighing in exasperation at how terrifying these storms could make her feel. She didn't know why those things made her frightened, they had been for a while. The Doctor stood up to close the curtain, then sitting down on the couch next to her as she curled up as if to protect herself. In those few seconds, she looked so scared, as if the storm were to kill her."Clara-" he started.

_"Nothing's _wrong with me..." she told him sternly.

"Are you...scared of thunderstorms?" he asked softly.

Clara sighed again, her face still hidden. She didn't want to answer him. "No." she told him firmly, her persuasion only to be weakened by a piercing rumble of thunder, Clara screaming into the air. She panted quietly, for her words didn't convince him. "...I had this phobia when I was five, like...it wasn't even normal." she gulped, a flash of lighting making the room turn white, like the flash of a camera. Clara only hid her face in her hands. "My mum used to always help me through it, which...made me feel better after a while, but after she died..." she trailed off, as if she was taking in her words. "...I-I dunno..." she shook her head, for at that moment she felt like a complete idiot, especially acting like a baby in front of him. "Sorry..." she said after a lingering respite, blinking away her tears, trying to get up, but The Doctor easing her back to lay down. She lay down on his couch, covering her face with her hands, still trying to blink back her tears, for she didn't know what made her do it, but she felt as if she could in front of him. The thunder cried out in terror, echoing in the walls of the room, Clara screaming in fear.

Her mother had helped her through so much of her life, she was the one who helped her stand up, she was the only one who could really make her smile, she was the only one who really knew her, and yet she knew that she wouldn't be able to see her again. "I'm sorry..." she said weakly, crying. "I just...I miss her so much..." her voice was breaking apart. It was all happening as if she were falling from a skyscraper, slowly, and then the impact of the ground was what made everything inside of her pour out like blood.

She had never acted like this, not even in front of Nina; she always had a strong enough mind to keep it all in, and yet this was when it had decided for her thoughts to bleed through her skin. Nina had never understood how _terrible _it felt for a mother to die, for she had never lost anyone herself, and it was the same thing for all of her other friends. They didn't have their seventeenth year lived out as a depression, they didn't have to hug a grave for seven years, they didn't know anything. Maybe that's why she had decided to cry then and there, maybe it was because of him, John, maybe it was because he had fallen from a higher place, making the impact even harder to stand up to. He had known what it was like to lose the ones to read to you at night, he had lost both.

"Hey," he said quietly, rubbing her back gently. "It's alright," he said softly, for he didn't try to stop her crying, he just wanted to know that he was there. Crying wasn't a torture, it was a way to deal with it, and he knew what torture felt like. He stayed like that for a moment, gently rubbing her back, listening to the sound of her cries and the sound of the rain, keeping himself quiet. Sometimes, you needed to cry. Clara gasped for air, turning to lay down on her back, panting. "Oh God, you _did not _have to deal with me acting like a baby, I'm-" she stopped to sigh, curling up on the opposite side of the couch. "I'm sorry..." she said quietly, and her eyes look scared. She looked alone, and frightened, as if no one could come near her acting like such a child.

"Clara," he said her name slowly, a roar of thunder making her flinch. She didn't hesitate when she fell into his arms, him hugging her quietly, her arms around his neck. At that moment, she just felt _safe_, an unfamiliar feeling, as if she had never felt safe in a long time. She sighed quietly. The Doctor pulled away to look at her, her eyes red. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, wiping her tears with his thumb. "You're okay, Clara." he assured her, hesitating before bringing his lips to hers. She took it as a surprise, for she had never kissed a boy, and yet she closed her eyes and slowly kissed him back. She was the one to pull away first, for she didn't know what she was doing, but she smiled weakly and leaned her forehead on his, staring at him for a few moments. "...can I read to you instead?" she laughed softly, still scared but overall, okay.

"Always." he answered, kissing her forehead, grabbing a book from the couch side table and scanning through it, and needless to say he had never been much one for poetry, and yet Amy had still giving him a book full of just that, converting him to one who read poetry on a daily basis. "Your choice." he announced, handing her the book, to which it didn't take her long to find one that caught her attention. She lay her head down on his lap, holding the book above her so she could read. "Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe." she recited, always a lovely piece of writing.

"_It was many and many a year ago,_

_ In a kingdom by the sea,_

_That a maiden there lived whom you may know_

_ By the name of Annabel Lee;_

_And this maiden she lived with no other thought_

_ Than to love and be loved by me._

_I was a child and she was a child,_

_ In this kingdom by the sea,_

_But we loved with a love that was more than love—_

_ I and my Annabel Lee—_

_With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven_

_ Coveted her and me._

_And this was the reason that, long ago,_

_ In this kingdom by the sea,_

_A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling_

_ My beautiful Annabel Lee;_

_So that her highborn kinsmen came_

_ And bore her away from me,_

_To shut her up in a sepulchre_

_ In this kingdom by the sea._

_The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,_

_ Went envying her and me—_

_Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,_

_ In this kingdom by the sea)_

_That the wind came out of the cloud by night,_

_ Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee._

_But our love it was stronger by far than the love_

_ Of those who were older than we—_

_ Of many far wiser than we—_

_And neither the angels in Heaven above_

_ Nor the demons down under the sea_

_Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_

_ Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

_For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams_

_ Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

_And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes_

_ Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

_And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side_

_ Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,_

_ In her sepulchre there by the sea—_

_ In her tomb by the sounding sea."_

Clara shut the book and rested atop her stomach, folding her hands and looking up at the ceiling. "You know, when I was a child I used to always wonder at what caused the death of Annabel Lee." she said. "I never realized how envious people could be." she spoke quietly. "Maybe I am envious myself, of people who have a mum whom they can just...talk to on the phone." she mumbled, turning on her side, hugging the book to her chest. "But...I always have Nina, and Amy, and Rose, and you." she smiled up at him. "I just wish that I could tell my mum the things that I never got the chance to say."

He nodded his head. "Yeah, me too." he muttered, looking at the wall opposite of him. "...me too."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I owe a big apology for having an unexpected hiatus in updating, I've been busy during the weekends and too busy during the weekdays to even come close to my computer, so thank you everyone for being patient. But I have so many plans for the month of May, recitals and school commitments, but after those hectic few weeks, I'll have more time for writing! (Hopefully.) **

**Anyways, I just wanted to let everyone know that this story had started it's whole plot in early March, and now the story takes place in mid May or so, just to organize things and such. So yeah! :D Thank you for all of your support, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. :)**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter<strong> **Fourteen**_

Amy found herself running into the front lobby of TARDIS weeks later, hair askew by the unforgivable wind and rain, her balance challenged by the task of running in Steve Madden wedges, but other than that she was overall exuberant. Emma gave her an odd look, seeing as by her appearance that Amy looked rather peculiar. The red head clutched a large manila envelope to her chest, looking around frantically as if she were to topple if she didn't find what she was looking for. "Are you alright Amelia?" Emma asked warily, stacking some papers into the file cabinet. She only beamed in reply. "Oh yeah Emma, peachy keen, no need to worry about me!" she giggled. "Just, oh, have you seen John anywhere?"

"Yeah, he's in his office, as per usual." she replied nonchalantly. "Amy, are you sure-"

"Oh, I'm _fine _Emma, just really, _super _excited!" Amy squealed in delight, toddling towards the elevator with her envelope still at hand, the TARDIS secretary eying her in a confused state as she heard the elevator ding. Emma shook her head, for it seemed as though the weirdest things seemed to happen at TARDIS.

When Amy opened the door to his office, she was rather surprised herself to see John's head on his desk, quiet snores echoing throughout the walls of the room. Amy bit her lip, for it seemed as if he never got enough sleep, but she couldn't keep the news to herself any longer, and the only one she had told so far was Rory, and technically he didn't even count. So she silently crept up to him, waving her hand in front of his motionless head to reassure herself that he was indeed, sound asleep. Amy rolled her eyes, tucking the envelope underneath her arm and quietly tapping his mop of brown hair in attempts to wake him up, her gestures not making much of an impact. "John," she shook his shoulder, but he only snored. She wasn't getting anywhere. So she grabbed his water bottle from the coaster to her left, dumping the contents onto his head, the man snapping awake at an instant at the cold awakening. "What the hell-" he stopped to look up at Amy, an innocent grin displayed across her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I have _super _exciting news," she smiled, ignoring the fact that he was half-way drenched. She handed him the manila envelope, John eying it warily before opening it. He muttered to himself in disgust at how his whole head of hair was wet, his gravitational quiff plastered to his forehead. "Dear Amelia Williams, we are proud to announce that you have been selected as a nominee for..." he mumbled his way through the letter, pausing slightly every now and then to look up at the girl in front of him who looked as if she were about to implode with happiness. "Amy," he smiled. "This is great!" he beamed, sitting up to embrace her in a hug. Amy squealed in delight at the excitement. "I've _never _been selected for an award like this, oh my gosh, what am I going to wear, who are we going to invite-"

"Amy," John chuckled. "It's in August."

"I _know _that, duh." she waved it off. "But we need to plan! Three months isn't long at all." she shook her head. "I mean, they're parties to plan, hair to cut, speeches to write, oh God. I _totally _forgot about a speech! What do I say? What it I stutter or mispronounce-"

"Amy." John stopped her mid sentence. "You'll be fine. Take a deep breath." he told her, and she did so, John holding her shoulders for support. "Okay, I think I'm alright." she reassured herself, nodding her head. At that moment, John's phone rang, it's screen lighting up with a text message. Amy's eyes darted to the device on his desk, John looking at her blankly as she got out of his grip to see who it was. "Amy-no-" John persisted, trying to get past her, but Amy already had his phone in her hand. "Ooh, it's Miss Clara." she teased, winking at him as he winced in reply. "She's inviting you to-" Amy's voice cracked as she saw that Clara had included that little heart at the end of her message like all significant others do. Amy's eyes slowly fixed themselves onto the man in front of her, as she then realized that, he indeed had found himself a girlfriend.

"Amy, I can explain-"

"You two are-!" Amy's hand clasped around her mouth in shock, a grin reappearing across her face. "I knew it!"

"Please-"

"You probably kissed her already."

"Amelia-"

"Aww, I can just see it!" she clapped her hands together.

"Pond!"

"Quick! See wants to see you at around five." she wheeled her way towards him as she pushed him to get out the door.

"I can't go looking like this-"

"Course you're not! You need to be in compliance with pristine conditions, mister. So straighten up, fix your bow tie, and-" she removed her hands from his shoulders to shake off the excess water that she had previously awoken him with. "Take a shower."

* * *

><p>"Take a shower just for me Chin Boy?" Clara asked warily as she sipped her coffee at hand, seeing that his hair was indeed wet from previous showering.<p>

"I can explain-"

"Doctor." Clara giggled. "I'm only teasing. And besides, I like boys with a good personal hygiene." she motioned for him to sit down, for she had already ordered him coffee. He did so, Clara biting her lip as she tried to find a reason for staring a conversation. She looked out the window, rain pounding on the glass like it was trying to intrude. She fumbled with the buckle on her red raincoat, tapping her foot energetically as if she were afraid. She shook her head, for it was only rain; pointless, harmless...rain. "I saw Amy today, she told me that she got selected for a women's literature award." John nodded his head, Clara turning her head slightly to face him. "Oh, really? That's nice." she smiled, hugging her cup.

"The award's banquet is in New Orleans, and she wants everyone to attend in August."

This piqued Clara's attention. "New...Orleans?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I mean, I know that you've always wanted to go there, I guess this would be a good chance."

Clara smiled. "That's...that's amazing." she shook her head. She could remember when her mother would show her pictures of her trip to Louisiana, the lively street musicians and the brilliant street lamps, the old buildings with the mysterious people that she wanted to meet, she wanted to see it all in New Orleans. She looked down at the glass table, the reflection of the rain reminding her that yes, there was rain in that city, but for the price of seeing it's undeniable sights, she'd be able to suck it up. "Clara," John started, trying to look at her clearly. "You and I, are you sure about it?"

She looked up. "What?"

"Us...being together...are you okay about it?"

She nodded. "Yeah, of course." she assured him. "Why would you ask?"

"You just seem...shy around me sometimes."

Clara bit her lip. "Is that bad? Being shy?"

"No," he shook his head. "I just wonder sometimes whether you're okay with being in a relationship."

Clara stayed silent for a moment, for she was starting to think about whether she _was _really okay with being in a relationship, for she knew that she'd never been in one before, and she just supposed that she had lacked experience. She had no idea what it was like to love another, and it felt unusual, and she wondered whether she really enjoyed being in one in the first place. Everything seemed to go by like wind, fast, never ending, and always changing. "Is it bad to say that you're the first boy that I actually like?"

John was surprised at this, for he had the impression that she had at least a few previous relationships in the past. "You've never been in a-" he stopped mid-sentence when he saw Clara shake her head slightly. "Never." she said shyly. "I know, it's weird, and sort of stupid-"

"It's not stupid."

Clara smiled. "Yeah, okay." she admitted. "Just...I don't expect you to deal with me being rubbish at this...this 'relationship' stuff, because I _am _rubbish at it." she giggled, and she was speaking the truth from it.

"Don't worry, I'll...I'll help you through it, and if you don't like it, then you don't have to-"

"No." Clara interrupted. "I think I kind of like it." she smiled shyly. And she knew that she was sounding incredibly stupid and childish, but as of now, she didn't really care. "So, with that said, I guess that I should ask you something." she paused for a moment. "I'm having a piano recital in two weeks, and I was wondering if you could come?" she asked. "It's at that new performance arts center down town, and Nina will be traveling that week, so I was just wondering."

John smiled. "I'd love to."

Clara grinned. "Great, thanks." she nodded. "Well, we better get going, it's a Wednesday again." she noted.

John nodded. "Library?"

"You read my mind." she smiled, grabbing her umbrella from underneath the table, John offering to throw away their empty coffee cups. Clara reached for the Olsenboye backpack that hung across the back of her seat, carrying her papers and notebooks, she slung it around her shoulders.

"Are you ready?" John asked, Clara nodding her head. He opened the door for her as she let the umbrella unfold above her head, the rain patting down on its fabric covering. She smiled at him as he reached for her hand, a gesture that she couldn't exactly decipher a feeling for, but it felt comforting, her hand in his. They walked down the street together, the rain pouring down, but for once in her life, Clara didn't really care.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

She didn't know what to expect two weeks later when she heard a car honk outside of her front door, so Clara nonchalantly paced herself toward her bedroom window and lifted up its heavy glass panel, leaning her elbows on the window sill to be greeted by the wonderful sight of Handles parked at the front of her flat complex. "Such a gentleman, offering me a ride when I'm the one who invited you in the first place." Clara teased, smiling down at The Doctor, who was grinning a smile like no other. "Hey, I'm alright with it, and must I say that you look lovely tonight my lady."

Clara scoffed. "Not too bad yourself." she smiled. "I'll be right there." she said, closing the window and gather her things, hopping down the complex stairs two by two and practically running towards his car, for she let out a small puff of air as she closed the door beside her. The Doctor smiled and kissed the top of her head, a gesture that Clara had become rather acquainted to over the last few weeks, along with hugging, and hand holding. As he drove off, his eyes shifted over to the girl next to him, tapping her fingers on the music binder sitting patiently on her lap, almost as if she were practicing. She just smiled at him, leaning her head on the window as she watched the sky fade from a red to a deep blue, like a flame being blown out by the wind that which the world contained. It was beautiful, the sky going to sleep as the stars turned on, like, nightlights in a child's bedroom at night. Clara would remember when she was a child herself, her mother would always turn on her nightlight before she would drift off to a distant sleep, for falling asleep by herself was far too lonely.

"So," Clara piped, feeling rather bubbly. "How do you usually spend your weekends when your not spending time doing those...those business things?" she asked. He laughed. "Usually just eating fast food and watching intense investigation documentaries, why? How do you spend your weekends?" he asked, looking towards her.

Clara smiled, as if she were debating on whether to tell him or not. "Just...eating fast food and watching Disney movies." she admitted playfully, The Doctor laughing at her response as she hit him in the shoulder with a frolicsome slap. "I'm serious, like, _all _of my favorite moves are Disney." she sighed at the fact of it being quite childish, but she wasn't the slightest bit of ashamed. The Doctor only looked at her with a peculiar stare on his face. Clara arched an eyebrow. "What? I'm sure you've at least watched _some _Disney movies before, they're amazing." Clara spoke, scoffing as if Disney were a must-have in a healthy movie-ritual way of life. There was a slight pause between them before The Doctor had decided to confess.

"I've never watched The Lion King."

"You've never seen The Lion-!" Clara gasped as if the air around her was taken away, her mouth open as she stared at him in confusion and awe. She turned to face the road ahead of her as if she were taking the remark in. "Okay, we're breaking up." she joked, shaking her head and laughing along with The Doctor as the confession started to thaw from its surprise. "How could you have _never_ watched it?"

"Well, I've seen _parts _of it, but I've never actually sat down and watched it as a whole." he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "Amy even got it for me in attempts to try and get me into Disney movies, but I just never really got the chance. It's been sitting on my DVD cabinet for months." he laughed. Clara only narrowed her eyes at him. "Okay, after this, we're going to your house and we're watching it." she smiled.

* * *

><p>He opened the door for her as she walked into the performing arts auditorium, most of the seats already filled, scattered little components of theater seats remaining vacant, indicating their presence by the vivid shade of crimson fabric. Clara gasped for air in revelation as she turned around to head back out the door in terror, The Doctor keeping her steady, holding her by the shoulders. He scanned her face for any emotion, and all he got out of it was pure, genuine terror. "Clara, what's wrong?" he asked quietly.<p>

"That's...one hell of a crowd." she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, drowned out by the energetic chatter of spectators.

He stayed silent for a mere second. "Clara, you've performed so many times before, why get afraid all of a sudden?"

"Well, a five hundred seat auditorium doesn't exactly compare to the tiny corner of a restaurant." she replied. "Here, I'm all their focusing on, back at work I'm...background music." she snapped, looking at The Doctor for a lingering few seconds before sighing a heavy breath. "Listen, I'm sorry, I just didn't know how...scared I'd be." she admitted, shivering at the sense of dismay crawling up her spine. The Doctor only pulled her in for a hug, to which she unexpectedly accepted. The smooth silk cloth of his silver waist coat brushed up against her cheek, Clara sighing quietly as he stroked the long strands of her brown chestnut hair. It didn't exactly tame the fear, but it made her feel calmer overall as she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him back. "You play _perfectly_, and you always will." he assured her, kissing the top of her head as she smiled against his chest. "Thanks." she mumbled happily as she pulled away from his embrace, waving a tiny goodbye to him as she entered backstage, hugging the binder close to her.

People, around about the same age as she, were sitting on the floor and in the chairs provided, some in clusters of conversation, and others in isolation in order to concentrate on only themselves and this performance. Clara didn't exactly see any familiar faces, so she just sat down and tapped her fingers on her binder, waiting for the whole thing to just fly by. She spotted a stack of programs from the table to her left, and she didn't see any harm in looking at one for herself, so she silently picked one up and started to frantically scan it for her name. Page after page, she looked, until she reached page five, that was when she saw the words _Clara Oswald _printed in a legible cursive, the number twenty-four printed just before her name. She was twenty-fourth in line. Twenty-three musicians right before her.

Clara almost jumped up in surprise when she heard a lady speak into a microphone just behind the curtain, a lady in which she could not see, but she could hear quite clearly. She started the presentation by saying how it was 'a true gift to hold the ability in one's heart to have the ambition and talent to play such wonderful music', a statement in which Clara didn't exactly deny to, but she did think it was a tiny bit hyperbolic. But regardless, the show started anyway, and without any regard, she knew that everyone was prepared and pristine when it came to music recitals. One after one, they walked out onto the stage and performed whatever they had to please the common crowd, and likewise, the common crowd applauded afterwards. It made Clara's conviction of a decent performance wither down a poor belief, mainly because it seemed as though everyone else was doing such a fine job. Why couldn't she?

Clara didn't know; everyone just seemed to have lowered her self-esteem.

In the eighth row of the theater, The Doctor sat in the eleventh seat, tapping his foot energetically as he applauded a violinist perfunctorily, for he wasn't paying much attention for the recital program sitting silently on his lap. The performer got off of the stage, and following behind him, was the one girl that The Doctor had came here to see. Clara sat down quietly on the piano bench, her fingers poised above the correct keys in the right position, him noticing her take a slight breath. She paused for a moment, holding air in her lungs before she began to play.

The tune was soft, lucid enough to hear, but so delicate, as if a mere cough would disrupt the fragile lace of notes from the piano. The Doctor sat up in his chair, for not only was Clara playing, yet he had recognized the piece she was playing rather well. He didn't know the name of it, and yet it was as if the song was fixed onto him so well that he could still remember where he had heard it from, even if it was years ago when he had heard it for the first time.

He looked down at the program on his lap, hastily flipping through the pages of the book until he met with the words he was wished to read.

_24. Clara Oswald - Gymnopédie No.1 by Erik Satie _

He knew that piece. He knew it so well.

The Doctor remembered his mother playing it for him when he was five, him sitting on the large cloth sofa of his father's living room, his little toddler legs swinging off the edge from the actuality of him being rather short. The song was so pretty to him, for it seemed as though the only song he ever wanted to hear, and when his mother would finish, he'd clap for her and hug her until she'd pick him up, her laughing a laugh that he hadn't heard in so long. It was peculiar, hearing this song again twenty-two years later, it was like an old friend reappearing from eternities of being away.

When Clara finished, The Doctor clapped and smiled at the girl he now loved so much. She gave some leeway into her posture as she relaxed a bit, curtsying her way out as she held her music sheets tightly that they creased at her fingertips. It was finished. When performing, it just seemed as if time had stopped counting seconds just to listen, and she didn't even have to put much thought into it, she just had to trust herself. She was done, and Clara couldn't have been more relieved.

After the recital had come to an end, The Doctor paced himself in the cool night atmosphere of the courtyard as he checked his watch, waiting for Clara to come out from the auditorium. He was more than impressed with everyone, their quality of performance and their audacity to get up there and just play, he couldn't have imagined spending his time with anything, or perhaps _anyone_, better. The Doctor checked his watch yet again, for it just seemed as if time was running slower, as if he had more than enough time; a feeling that he hardly ever felt. He stared up at the pure white crescent that hung on its invisible string of gravity as the stars glimmered like shattered components of the unseen moon, him wondering if there really were something greater beyond all that. It just felt unusual.

"Doctor!" Clara called, running up to him in the heels that she had become rather acquainted to over the past hour. The parking lot was desolate, only a few cars in sight and him and her the only beings that stood there. He caught her in an embrace and spun her around, Clara giggling as she brought her lips to his in a soft kiss, him kissing her back longingly. Had it been so unfamiliar, the feeling of this unusual pull of her heartstrings, maybe that really was what love felt like. Clara felt rushed, she felt as if she had changed all of a sudden, and she didn't know if it were for the better, but somehow, it felt as if it were for good. Her heart raced as she pulled away for a mere second, parting her lips before she leaned towards him again. She teased him as she bit on his bottom lip affectionately, her allowing his tongue to stroke against hers. Clara smiled as she pulled away delicately, brushing the hair away from his eyes, a tiny laugh coming from her as she looked up at his green eyes. "What?" he asked jokingly, smiling along with her. "Nothing." she shook her head, a bubbly grin on her face as she started towards his car in the gait of a comical skip and jog.

"Where we going now?" he asked amusingly, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he started walking.

"Your house, remember? We still have to watch The Lion King!" Clara called over her shoulder.

* * *

><p>They both couldn't understand what series of events had led up to this seemingly impractical night; both ending up laying down on his couch at ten o'clock, sharing a bottle of wine and eating fast food, (Clara had reassured herself that she'd jog the next morning to burn it off.) for one would suppose that they had decided to live by the philosophic term of hakuna matata. Clara had been singing every song that was sung word for word, The Doctor enjoying the film more than he had really figured.<p>

Clara hadn't even really _meant _to get drunk, she assumed it just sort of happened on its own, for it was then she realized that she couldn't stay clearheaded with wine. She started to feel more giggly and bubbly as the movie progressed, to the point in which she was just tired and utterly clueless. The Doctor, however, managed to stay sober, mainly because he knew that Clara wouldn't. "Well, you're drunk." he stated in an obvious tone.

Clara only laughed. "That's really kind of you to say."

"You can't drive home like this," he shook his head at her in hilarity as she hummed the soundtrack lightheartedly in her stage of slight oblivion. "Come on," he said as he paused the movie, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to his room, for she was yawning quietly as her eyes looked purely tired.

She giggled. "You're so _strong_, Doctor, you know that right?"

"Well, you're really light."

"And your _chin_," she laughed again, brushing his chin with her fingertips. "You could put someone's eye out..."

"Hey," he whined in an unappreciative complain.

"I think it's cute." she smiled. And though she was drunk, it didn't keep The Doctor from laughing at her.

He tucked her into his bed, pulling up the blankets over her shoulder before kissing her forehead. "Goodnight Clara." he smiled at her, stroking the hair out of her face as she smiled back at him lightly. "Goodnight, Doctor." she giggled. "Doctor...that's a funny name..." she yawned before she immediately drowned into her sleep, The Doctor chuckling lightly before turning off the light, exiting out of the room and carefully closing the door behind him, making his way down the hallway and back into the living room. The sounds of his footsteps were the only sounds he could hear as he flopped himself down on the couch, staring at the bright light coming from the television, then realizing that, maybe he really did care for Clara more than he had really known. He picked up the remote control to finish the movie that he had procrastinated in watching for months now, and for the first time in what felt like years, he smiled to himself, for it really felt as if he had become the other half of somebody.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter Sixteen_**

After Nina got back from her trip a few weeks later, she immediately phoned Clara and arranged a lunch date with her the day following her home arrival. And since it was a rather difficult task to get up on time that morning due to the unpardonable jet lag that she had, Nina's loyalty skills were tested by her unforgivable need to sleep. But, nevertheless, Clara was _certainly _more important than sleep in her right of mind, so that's how she wound up panting due to lack of air as she ran towards Clara's table at The Grill; an outside bistro on the other side of town with an exquisite specialty in grilled cheese. Nina crouched over in the slight pain coming from her stomach (From all the running, of course.) as Clara, wide-eyed, stared back at her in concern. "Nina, it's lovely to see you, but are you alright?" she asked kindly. Nina, out of breath, only smiled reassuringly at her dear friend as she plopped herself down on the seat before her. "Oh, you don't know _how _hard I tried to get here on time Clara, I really do apologize-"

"No, no, no, it's quite alright," Clara chuckled, smiling back at her brightly. "I'm just happy to see you again." she admitted, gesturing towards the glass positioned in front of Nina's plate. "I ordered you an ice tea, your regular, and added two packets of Splenda sugar, just how you like it." she chirped, smoothing out her skirt as if pleased with herself. Nina, however, was surprised at her friend's precise memories, feeling rather guilty that she had to have her wait like this. "So, how was Chicago?" Clara asked excitedly, sipping her lemonade through a straw as she prepared herself to listen attentively.

Nina grinned. "Oh, it was amazing! I visited Navy Pier, saw the Willis Tower, I even got to see _Wicked _in a Broadway theater, that was so exciting." she shook her head in awe. "I have so many pictures to show you!" she squealed. "Oh Clara, I wish I could've taken you with me, we would've had a great time together, I feel horrible for leaving you here."

Clara, however, just shook her head. "Nina, I'm glad that you had fun. And actually...these past few weeks have been pretty productive." she nodded her head in agreement with herself. "I mean, I'm working on my book, I went to my piano recital with John-"

"Wait." Nina stopped her mid-sentence. "You went with _John_?" she asked slowly, a suspicious expression portrayed on her face. "You mean that gorgeous human being with the bow-tie fetish and the over exaggerated chin?"

Clara laughed lightly. "If that's how you like to describe him, then go ahead, but yes, _him_." Clara smiled.

"Are you two...?"

Clara looked up at the sky innocently, as if she weren't trying to admit it. Nina gasped. "You are...!"

"Kinda sorta." Clara replied sheepishly, laying her head down on the table and sighing heavily. "It's just so _weird _thinking about it, I mean, I never thought that I'd take an interest into my _boss._"

"Well, when you put it that way, it makes it sound like it's a bag thing."

"Is it?"

Nina immediately shook her head. "No, no! It's definitely not a bad thing. Clara, it doesn't matter whether or not he's your boss or not, if you love him, you can't deny that." she smiled kindly back at her, to which Clara gave a small smile in reply. Nina was right, it didn't matter whether John was her boss or some newsboy off of the streets; Clara cared for him no matter what. It felt like a blithe awakening, everything, all of this, and Clara didn't want it to end. She had found a boy that loved her, but what surprised her the most was the fact that she had loved him in return. It felt like a dream that she never wanted to wake from; it was a such metaphor that made Clara feel as if a sweet pang of vivacious character had been injected in her mind over night.

"You're...you're right." Clara said reassuringly to herself, the fingers of both hands intertwined with one another. "It shouldn't matter." she nodded slightly, smiling to herself. Clara had a tendency to over think such simple things, and she found herself doing just that. She shouldn't worry about each other's position, whether she was working for him or not, for it didn't feel like that. What mattered the most wasn't the money; what mattered the most was that she was happy.

* * *

><p>The sweet sunlight of a subtle June felt warm against Clara's skin as she walked down the sidewalk, the shops and restaurants passing by as the wind blew against her hair. She was planning on meeting The Doctor in the bookshop, the reason behind it, she didn't know, but then again, she had never asked. They had finished editing the book weeks ago, at least Clara found its competence and satisfactory in it. It had been nearly a month since she had read about the unfathomable existence of Oswin, and though she still remembered her, it felt as if they drifted apart by time, as if they were friends almost.<p>

Clara had never considered writing another book, for it took years to finish Defiance on its own. She had always gotten ideas for new books, a cascade of chapters and quotations to form something that she saw as a masterpiece, then reality struck her and it would all fall apart, as if she already had too much to bear. Yet, there was one idea that clung onto her mind like a child to their mother, an idea that she saw as an opportunity for her mind to run wild and unimpeded, only because it had no restrictions. It was simply fiction. _Time travel. _Clara loved thinking about it, traveling back to times that the world never had the time to let you see.

As she neared the bookshop, Clara became aware of its outdoor displays that they had on certain occasions. Walking through the sidewalk café just down the street of the store, her eyes caught onto a family of three sitting down at a table. The teen sat down across from her brother and father, her curly brown hair tied up in a pony tail to vanquish the heat, a book held up by her right hand as she sipped a soda with her left. Clara's eyes widened at it's cover. "Where did you get that?" she asked all of a sudden, not intending on frightening the three, yet she needed to know. The girl's eyes narrowed, jerking her head towards the bookshop behind her. "I just got it now, they said the book just came out a few days ago." she said warily, continuing to read. Clara, however, snatched it out of her hand, looking at it frantically in disbelief. _No...no...this...this can't be. _She thought to herself, for her mind had seemed to be spinning.

_Defiance by Clara Oswald _

_TARIDS Publishers_

"Excuse me, ma'am, but would you please give my daughter her book back?" her father asked politely, eying her oddly. Clara shook her head, snapping herself out of her shock, sputtering. "Oh, oh...yeah, I do apologize, I'm sorry, I just..." she placed the book neatly down on the table, a wide smile appearing on her face, and before the family could question her even more so, she was off and running, the three observing her in a perturbed and confused state.

"Who was that, Angie?" the brother asked, continuing to work his way through the maze on the children's menu in front of him, for at the age of twelve he still found them challenging. Angie only shook her head. "I don't know Artie..." she replied. "I don't know."

Clara saw The Doctor hiding his face behind a book, her grabbing it out of his hands and glaring at him in slight annoyance. "You didn't tell me that it was coming out _now_! As in..." she waved her hands around for emphasis. "_This _week!" she sighed, The Doctor only laughing at her. "I wanted to surprise you." he smiled. Clara only punched him in the arm, earning a look from him that made the clear statement that he was offended. "I hate you." she glowered, throwing her arms around him and sighing into his chest. "You idiot." she laughed as he hugged her back. "Congratulations." he muttered, kissing the top of her head.

"Thank you." Clara smiled, pulling away and staring at the bookshelf in front of her, and on the fourth shelf, one next to each other, was the book _she_ had wrote. She took it carefully into her tiny hands, looking at its cover and releasing a sigh of relief to herself. She flipped through its pages, seeing all of the familiar words that she had reread hundreds of times. "I...I can't believe this..." she shook her head. "This is so _weird._" she said, The Doctor laughing in reply. "I love the smell of books." she remarked as the page flew one after another, the aroma of ink on paper filling the air around her. "I...I know this is unusual, but I want to get it." she scoffed slightly, hugging the book close to her chest. "Yes, my _own _book that I've read _hundreds _of times before..." she trailed off, shyly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's alright." The Doctor smiled. "I'll get it for you."

"Oh, no you don't really have to-"

The Doctor held a finger to her lips, shushing her mid-sentence. "Don't worry about it. You deserve it." he said, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze as his lips met hers for a moment before he took the book out of her hands, smiling at Clara before turning away to become a part of the line that trailed down the bookshop counter. She grinned nervously, playing with the ring on her middle finger, watching the people passing by outside. It felt so new, knowing that her work was now published, knowing that anyone could read it.

She felt exhilarated, and yet she couldn't do anything but smile.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Clara hummed a faint tune from a miscellaneous Disney movie as she handed The Doctor a cup of tea, holding her own in her left hand as she sat down next to him on her sofa. He wrapped his arm around her and rubbed her shoulder as he took a sip, his green eyes peering down at the sunken tea bag at the bottom of the mug. She hugged her tea mug close to her chest, her hair matted and pulled into a ponytail, for she had grown into the habit of losing her vanity when at home, even when The Doctor was there with her. It was a Saturday morning, and The Doctor had intended on paying her a visit; little did he know that he'd be staying for breakfast. But albeit the impromptu stay, Clara was happy enough to make him some tea.

Her book had been selling fairly well over the past couple of months, each day she'd see that even more people had been taking an interest into it. (To which Clara would have to admit, she'd been visiting the bookshop more than regularly in the past few weeks.) It held a place in the front window, a display that Clara was rather pleased with; the book itself depending on the strength of a silver easel, the crisp and fresh ink on paper protected by the blanket of a hardcover. She'd see the occasional passerby reading her book, a sight that made Clara want to straightforwardly hug them so, a gesture that was unexplainable and yet so necessary. It was just too much to handle, in the best way possible.

Rose had even called in the previous week, claiming that she had finished the book in two days, talking to Clara for an hour in such unexpected acclaim. Rose described it as a _'__witty, charming, clever, and bittersweet chef-d'œuvre'_; and that she wanted her review on the front cover of the book in its next printing. Clara had laughed at the thought, then realizing that there certainly was more than just one print and a move-on when it came to books, then realizing that, she hadn't thought of the aftermath. What would happen now? Would her life become even _more _multiplex, more than she had already seen her life according to present time? Clara held no trace of where she was going, and though they say that life is full of surprises, wouldn't it be just the _slightest _bit of lovely as to have a hint?

And yet even though her mind had been racing, there she sat on one nonspecific Saturday morning on her living room sofa, sipping tea, next to the boy that held a good percentage of the answers she wanted to hear. And yet, she was waiting. Waiting for something to speak up for her. Waiting for someone to tell her that it was time to wake up and look around at her new and untouched reality; a reality of shouting into the world and earning somewhat 'prevalence', basically all of the aspects that an author has to endure for at least a decent portion of their writing career. "...what happens now?" she asked quietly, the sound of the mug on the coffee table opposing the silence in the room. He sighed to her in reply, hugging her close to him as he muttered into the crown of her head, her soft hair brushing against his cheek. "Now..." he replied. "...you sit back and you _watch_."

Clara narrowed her eyes. "And how long does go on for?"

That's when he laughed. "Let's just say that you should enjoy it while it lasts."

Clara moaned sarcastically, craning her neck to see him clearly. She grinned at the angle of him, her small fingers stroking the hair out of his eyes. "Hey..." she started, getting his attention, for she had been holding in a secret for the past few days now, unsure of how to approach the subject, but now it just seemed necessary. "My dad's coming over this weekend, and I was thinking that you two could get acquainted with each other...I mean, after all this time." she smiled, not surprised to see his face turn from content to a pale expression of fear. She giggled, slapping him playfully in the face. "Hey, come on. It won't be _that _bad." she offered, arching an eyebrow to the fact that his face remained unchanged. "He'll _like _you."

The Doctor stayed quiet for a moment. "I...I can't." he shook his head simply. "And _no _he won't." he assured her. He had always known that one way or another he would have to stand before the presence of Clara's father, and he had always reliable for himself to believe that one day he would muse over what he would say, but it being Thursday, and with the weekend only a few days away, his plans of pondering became the simplicity of some brief thinking, and he dreaded the feeling. This was Clara's first relationship, so it wasn't obscure that her father would act at least somewhat protective. He tried to gulp back the uneasy feeling in his throat, and yet it remained there, mainly just to mock him. "Clara, please, don't make me-"

"But he told me that he wants to _meet _you..." Clara whined childishly.

"You talk about me?"

"Doctor, I can never really keep secrets from my father." she admitted, leaning her head on his shoulder.

The Doctor groaned, sighing at the amount of practicing such a simple conversation would require. "But he won't _like _me..." he whined back.

"Yes he _will_..." Clara persisted, kissing his cheek. The Doctor stayed stubborn, unable to give in until Clara asked him earnestly. "Oh, _please!_" she pleaded helplessly, falling back dramatically atop of him, which didn't exactly annoy him, but didn't exactly make him feel any less nervous either. He sighed in exasperation. "...fine." he answered finally, Clara letting out a squeal of excitement as she threw her arms around him. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you." she repeated until The Doctor finally did get annoyed, laughing as he hugged her back. The Doctor knew that no matter what the excuse, he was going to meet Clara's father, no matter what condition, dead or alive. He only wanted to make Clara happy, and he really did seem fine from Clara's perspective.

Even though on the inside, he was scared as hell.

* * *

><p>"Amy, it's eight in the morning, what are you doing calling me?" Clara laughed. It was now a nonspecific <em>Friday<em> morning, a day in which she usually intended to sleep in, though her plans had been slightly altered. She walked into her kitchen barefoot, the tile floor cold underneath her feet as she turned on her coffee maker. "Have you read the paper yet?" Amy asked through the phone, a perplexed expression on Clara's face as she opened the cabinet to get a coffee mug.

"No, who still reads the paper?" Clara teased.

"Um, excuse me, _I _do as a matter of fact." Amy retorted playfully.

"And you don't find it the slightest bit obsolete...?" she joked, as the sound of brewing coffee complemented her conversation.

"Being obsolete isn't a bad thing, darling." Amy replied. "But anyways, read the paper, and then call me back." she spoke quickly as if she were in a rush.

"Wait, you're not even going to tell me what I'm looking for-" Clara stopped mid-sentence when she heard that Amy had hung up. She laughed to herself as she placed her phone on the kitchen counter, the marble top cold from isolation against her fingers as Clara adjusted the robe that poorly fitted her physique. Amy wasn't going to talk any further until she had seen what she had wanted her to, no matter how many days or how many spam messages she could bear. And though it wasn't _that _arduous to go out and find a newspaper around town, Clara just didn't feel like heading out. But, her curiosity had overcome her laziness, and had assured herself that she would indeed head out soon, after her breakfast, of course.

* * *

><p>It didn't take her long to find a newspaper vending machine, actually, it only took a bus ride and a small walk to find the weekly publishing of Amy's concern. She slipped a coin into the slot, the stack of paper sliding out of the dispenser and into Clara's tiny hands, the author holding it with both hands in order to scan it clearly. It seemed like forever since she had held one of these things, though it did feel familiar; the weak flimsy paper that was flexible in every way imaginable, the headlines on politics, and the ink that smeared her palms as she flipped though each page.<p>

Politics, football concerns, the stock market statistics that Clara tried to decipher but eventually gave up after sometime; she didn't see the point of Amy wanting her to read any of this. She sat down at a nearby table of a sidewalk bistro, sprawling the newspaper across the table-cloth as she flipped through each page, and every page flipped, becoming even less convinced of her finding anything of interest. That's when she finally reached the deep fathoms of the weekly paper, about to turn the page when a familiar picture caught her eye. She glanced at the title of the article in oblivion. _The Sparrow; Reading Critiques and Suggestions. _Clara's eyes focused on the sight before her, for then she realized that her book had made it to the paper that week. _Defiance, by Clara Oswald; Review by Sally Sparrow. _The wind was starting to pick up, Clara carefully grabbing the salt and pepper shakers and placing them on each corner of the paper to serve as paper weights as she continued to read.

_I hadn't realized that TARDIS had published a new book until a few weeks ago when a friend had suggested this book to me over the phone, and after that I immediately went over the bookstore to get it and read it for myself. I had heard positive comments on the book, and was convinced that it would be a good read, for I took their word, but likewise, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. _

_I was overall pleased with the plot and storyline of the book, and though dystopia genres never piqued my interest, this was a wonderful exception. It seemed like more of a romance novel than one that focused on a dystopia environment, which is a quality that I enjoyed. I loved the mystery of The Doctor told in Oswin's perspective, considering that she is a mystery herself, for throughout the story she is slowly figuring out her true self, which is a great form of character development and something that people can connect with, even today. I would recommend this book to anyone that enjoys the exhilaration of pure surprise, for that is a quality that I had clearly recognized while reading this book.  
><em>

Clara quietly let out a small exhale, for she couldn't seem to find the energy to breathe while she read. Reviews and critiques made by people she didn't know frightened her, that being a close second to thunderstorms, but overall, she was pleased with the review. It made Clara realize a few things that she hadn't even noticed about her book in the first place, for character development and climax were the least of her concerns when writing. When writing, Clara really just enjoyed letting her mind spill out onto written proof of her potential, a potential that she hadn't seen clearly until people actually told her so, which was surprising when she had actually found out. She sat back in her chair, trying to take it all in, which wasn't strenuous, yet not at all believable. It made her feel a bit more encouraged, maybe it boosted her self-confidence by a minimum, but really, it just made her feel even more happy than she already was.

* * *

><p>The Doctor stood outside of The Grove, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he paced back and forth upon the sidewalk in the mild July heat. He had been pacing and thinking for a good five minutes, trying to find the courage to head inside and approach Dave Oswald himself, an approach that took much more bravery than The Doctor had bargained. He walked, back and forth until his feet got tired of it and his mind finally snapped into place of reality.<p>

Without a second thought, actions took over his words as his fingers wrapped around the metal door handle, opening the restaurant door without another mesmerizing comment from his idiotic brain, scanning the room hesitantly, almost hoping that he wouldn't see them so that he wouldn't have to face such a pessimistic situation; also known as his fears.

She saw him, smiling brightly as she waved him over, and he shyly followed her request, almost tripping over the leg of a lady's chair as he passed by. He sheepishly straightened his bow-tie as he slid into the seat next to her, kissing the top of her head as the man across from him took a witness account of what he saw exactly, at least that's what it seemed like to The Doctor. He then realized that he was, indeed, sitting across from her father, in which at that point the man offered his hand, The Doctor staring at for a few seconds before his realization had kicked in. He hastily shook his hand back, her father's grip tight and yet promising. "A pleasure to finally meet you, John." he said, smiling kindly back at him.

The Doctor had to realize for a few moments that _his _name was John. ('_The Doctor'_ had really gotten to his head lately.) "Thank you, you too." he smiled. "Clara has told me so much about you and her."

"Well, I do hope so." he glanced over to his daughter, who only gave back a polite smile as he continued. "I'm pleased to say that I've heard a lot of things about you as well; good things." Dave nodded his head in approval, smiling easily at the two of them. "And really, thank you for giving such an opportunity to my daughter; she _called _me after she had found out and was practically squealing-"

"_Dad..._" Clara laughed, biting her lower lip in apprehension. "No need to embarrass me..." she joked.

"I'm not embarrassing you, I'm just being proud." he corrected her.

The Doctor smiled, nodding his head slightly. "...you're welcome, I mean, Clara's a great writer, so, really, no need to thank me." he persisted, Dave only nodding, as if impressed with his manner. The Doctor was only holding in his breath, for it seemed like the only conversation that traversed between himself and Clara's father were heading off towards the approach of a parent-teacher conference. He took a good look at her father, his hair turning grey and yet his face young, his eyes kind and yet he still couldn't find the courage to just openly talk with him.

Clara sighed a bit, but quietly so that she wouldn't be heard, smoothing out her dress as she stood up, glancing towards the front restaurant counter. "Well, I believe that our order's ready, I'm just going to pick it up, alright?" she asked, the two others nodding their heads politely as she headed towards the pick-up to their food, letting out a breath of relief as she escaped from the slight tension that seemed to linger over their table.

Meanwhile, as The Doctor awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, Dave was the first one to speak up. "So, I heard you're dating my daughter," he said for starters, which in The Doctor's opinion was a fantastic way to start off their mutual conversation.

"Yes, I suppose that is a way to articulate it." he said politely, a shy smile portrayed on his face, without him even knowing it. (He had a horrible habit of extending the allowance of his terminology and lexicon.) Her father looked at him as if he was a complete nerd, or at least some unorthodox bibliophile with an expanded vocabulary. You see, he wouldn't exactly describe it as just '_dating_', because words that are simply homographs to each other can be easily confused with one another. (And the term '_going out_' just annoyed him.) He would describe it as a '_relationship_' (Along with some pretty adjectives), or just go with the simplest and yet most misused word in the English dictionary: _love_. (It at least got the point out.)

Dave only nodded. "Is she behaving?"

"Yes, of course, she's..." he trailed off, looking in her direction, as if he were drowning in his own pool of nostalgia. "...she's such an amazing girl." he admitted, not wanting to sound so cliché, but it was the truth.

Dave smiled. "_You_ behaving?"

He straightened his posture, his mind a bit hysterical in attempts to stay calm. "I suppose, I mean, yes-"

Her father only laughed. "That's good to hear." he replied, a small silence separating them before he said, "It's just a little new to me, I mean, hearing your own daughter talk about her new boyfriend." he smiled contently. "Clara's never mentioned it before, and this being her first relationship..." he trailed off for a moment. "I just hope I don't have to worry." he admitted. "Also, I just want to make it clear that if _anything _happens to her, you face me first, alright?"

The Doctor smiled. "Yes sir."

"And if you do anything to try to hurt her..." he looked at him sternly, at which he tried to assure him that he wouldn't.

"I couldn't even see a reason to." he said truthfully, at which Dave had finally decided that yes, he could learn to like this guy.

"You seem like a nice young gentleman, I hope you know that." Dave said quietly, but clear enough for him to hear. The Doctor replied with a polite smile, but on the inside he was practically imploding from relief. He _didn't_ hate him, and even more so, he didn't grimly interrogate him in the same sitting, so that was a good thing.

Great even.

* * *

><p>He had left a manuscript in his desk that he was planning to read that night, so that's exactly where he had found himself at ten o'clock after dinner with two members of the Oswald family. (It had went quite well, actually, for Dave had learned to accept The Doctor's bibliophile; but then again, he <em>was <em>working for a publishing company, so it was a reasonable fetish.) His hands awkwardly fumbled with his keys as he tried to find the right one, hastily unlocking the door and opening it to see the quiet isolation of his office. He switched on the light, his eyes adjusting to the sudden change, his footsteps on the wooden floor the only sound he could hear. Everyone had gone home for the day, and being alone wasn't scary, yet it certainly made the place feel much more spacious.

The Doctor pulled open the drawers of his desk, flipping through the files until he found the stack of papers he was looking for. Tossing them onto his desk, a business letter caught his eye as soon as the drawer closed, its sound being conclusive to the noise and the beginning of a long, unbearable silence. Emma sometimes retrieved the post for him, this having to be one of those situations, and on top of the stack of letters was the one that he questioned incredulously.

It was from another publishing company, _The Great Intelligence_, quite a pretentious name brand if you had asked The Doctor for his opinion. He had never really associated with the company, for he had never wanted to, even though they receive his attention on occasions. They produced profit, he couldn't deny that, and even though it seemed as if they were TARDIS's leading competitor, The Doctor didn't care much for competition. Nevertheless, he carefully picked it up, staring at it carefully, the rich paper and smooth ink underneath his fingertips, for this was no ordinary greeting card. He raised his eyebrows at this, for he couldn't find a reason for publishing companies to intervene with one another. He slid his thumb underneath the envelope flap, delicately opening it as he pulled out a tri-fold letter.

He read the first few sentences, mainly just formal compliments on the company's success, while meaning to be admiring in a way, The Doctor found it slightly suspicious. And, as he predicted, there was more to the letter than just the flattery. But attempts at persuasion never exactly got to him, mainly because the contents of the letter were starting to seem more mischievous. All of the words he read were slowly dwindling down to one conclusion, and yet the words sounding so convincingly professional, an observation that didn't leave The Doctor pleased. His hands slowly tightened their grip on the paper as he continued to read downward, the statements before him leaving him with questions that he couldn't estimate an answer to. The Great Intelligence didn't want to deal with disparage, and they weren't even dealing with money in their concerns.

They apparently wanted to deal with Clara.

He didn't even get to finish the letter, for he had thrown it in the waste basket before he could read the last portion of it. "Rubbish," he muttered to himself as he hastily picked up his manuscripts and gathering the rest of his belongings. He felt suddenly angry, yet he still felt melancholy, but most of all, he was just puzzled. What did The Great Intelligence have to do with _anything_ in Clara's concern? He didn't get it, but all he knew was that he couldn't let Clara read the letter. It shouldn't have the power to intervene with the life she already had, a life that she was content with keeping, and it wouldn't. The Doctor knew that.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Next update- you'll find out what that letter was all about. ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Short, but very important chapter. :D I'm finally finished with school, so more updates coming soon! On another note, all of the events portrayed in this story probably won't happen in a reality situation, but I suppose that's why they call it fiction, so I'm just putting that out there. Also, there are going to be twenty-two chapters in this story, just for a future reference. :) Enjoy!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>_

The Doctor hadn't called the last few days, a sign that usually indicated that he was probably just busy, but being especially scrupulous (More than the average human), Clara fell worried. She had wanted to call him in return, just for reassuring purposes, but she restricted herself from doing so. She didn't want to seem too self-assertive or ambitious, for the last thing that she wanted to be was an overbearing significant other. Everything was going to be okay, Clara just needed to tell herself to breath easy. The Doctor's schedule was occupied with work, something that Clara had learned to respect. Most of the times.

She beamed when she had finally heard him pick up on the other line, Clara holding her mobile phone close to her ear so she could block out the sounds of the cars passing by as she walked down the sidewalk. "Doctor, hi..." she smiled, biting her lower lip. "I was wondering if we could go out for lunch today? I could drop by your office and we could just head on out when you're finished." she offered, tightening her grip on the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder, patiently awaiting his answer.

There was a moment of silence. "Yeah, sure, I'm free lunch break." he finally said, much to Clara's relief.

"Okay, great, I'll see you in a few minutes." she replied, looking down at her boots, and eventually the grey pavement. "Listen...I know that I haven't seen you in a few days, and it seems a bit cliché to be saying this, but..." she trailed off, pondering if she should just shut up or admit that she was suffering from a deep, unforgivable longing, otherwise known as nostalgia. "...I miss you." she finally blurted out, closing her eyes in hopes that he didn't find it too absurd.

Then, another respite, lasting longer that Clara had figured, opening her eyes again when she heard him say, "I miss you too." Clara grinned, saying a quick goodbye before she hung up, stuffing her hands into the convenient pockets of her skirt, letting the breeze ruffle her hair a bit. She kicked a pebble with her toe, the inanimate stone skipping on the sidewalk as flew out of her sight. Life had just seemed so easygoing, which had seemed a bit suspicious in Clara's opinion, and she usually didn't believe in fantasies such as luck, but then again, it was nice to imagine it that way.

* * *

><p>"Hey, you," The Doctor smiled, kissing Clara's forehead as she made her way through TARDIS's front lobby, him tousling her hair playfully. "You can head on up to my office, I'll be there in a few minutes, just need to make some copies." he said, indicating towards the small stack of papers in his hand, skimming through them quickly, giving himself a paper cut in the process. "Ow..." he muttered, pouting like a child as he sucked on his thumb, Clara giggling as she shook her head at him. Turning away from her view, Clara made her way to the elevator, extending her index finger and pressing the button that displayed an upwards arrow; for she had then remembered how she had loved pressing elevator buttons when she was little. She didn't exactly have a clear logic of <em>why<em> she had liked it so much, maybe it was having simple pleasure of having the power to go anywhere within the walls of tall buildings, or maybe it was just the little _click _sound it made. (And now that Clara thought about it, she really _did _enjoy the clicking sound.)

She opened the door to his office, turning on the lights as she casually strolled in. She reached into her bag to get her phone, and my mistake, pulled out a small black box, her memory refreshing over the events of the previous days. Her father had given it to her before he had left. Clara opened it carefully, a pewter chain bracelet with a small book charm suddenly staring back at her, Clara carefully picking it up to look at it closely. Walking over to The Doctor's desk, Clara smiled, for though she wasn't one to accessorize very often, the bracelet was not only pretty, but it was from her father. Stuffing the box back into her bag, she removed it's strap from her shoulder, placing it on top of the desk as she wrapped the bracelet around her wrist, attempting to fasten the clasp, but finding it rather complicated with one hand attempting to do the work of two. She muttered under her breath in exasperation as the clasp slipped from her fingers, the bracelet falling into the trash can next to his desk, Clara rolling her eyes, for it had seemed harder to put it on than any other simple task imaginable.

She knelt down in front of the trash can, looking for her bracelet as she pushed aside the papers, newspapers, and notes that got in her way. After a few minutes of tedious glancing and searching, her fingers finally met themselves with the feeling of a textured piece of paper, Clara's eyes narrowing, as it felt a bit different compared to the rest of the trash that he had thrown away, and when things seemed different, Clara usually took an interest into whatever it was. Pushing away the other papers, she carefully saw the logo of which the letter came from, _The Great Intelligence. _She had recalled the name rather quickly, for she had read a few of their books, and yes, they were good reads, but in her opinion, just not very distinctive in which she would have hoped. She shrugged, about to stuff it back in the trash can when something had caught her eye, that 'something' being her own name. Clara was taken aback a bit, squinting slightly to make sure that her name was certainly there, and certainly, it was.

_Dear John Smith,_

_I'd first like to congratulate you on all of your success in the past year, for I have seen through your enthusiastic readers that your books are quite popular among the criteria of all ages. I have to admit that I have read a few, not all, but enough to say that we as a publishing company are impressed with your work. This letter is to ensue that apportion among publishing companies remains impartial, as well as for the enjoyment of giving others new experiences and allowing themselves to seek out the different diversities of writing. _

_Your new published author, Clara Oswald, has a wonderful talent for writing as you already know, and us here at The Great Intelligence would like to suggest an offer. Miss Oswald, as a fresh mind in the matter of publishing ordeals, should be able to experiment with the diverse alternatives and qualities of different companies. Yes, I am aware of the publishing contract author's agree on in the beginnings of their career, but after it ends, authors are independent to choose who they wish to write for. With that said, I request that Miss Oswald meet with us here at The Great Intelligence in her own time, only to enlighten her to the opportunities and experiences we have to offer. I can assure you that she will be pleased, and hopefully writing for us in the near future. I know that TARDIS Publishers has been a beneficial structure and development for her, only to release her into a brighter career of writing. _

_I do hope to hear a satisfactory response, and I wish you a good day. _

_Sincerely, Walter Simeon _

Clara scoffed, staring at the words before her in disbelief. _Apportion among publishing companies remains impartial...? Hopefully writing for us in the near future? _Clara was in awe, and confusion; staring at the fine print with her eyes wide, for she certainly wasn't expecting _this _so early in employment. But having no time to think about it furthermore, she heard footsteps coming from down the hallway, Clara immediately snapping into a state of panic. She reached back into the trash can, frantically searching until the feeling of cold metal met at her fingertips, Clara heaving a quiet sigh of relief as she pulled out her bracelet, and having no time to think, she shoved both her bracelet _and_ the letter into her bag. Clara had just enough time to sit in The Doctor's desk chair before he opened the door himself, staring at her idly with indeed, a bandage on his right thumb.

He saw the uneasy look portrayed in her eyes, and looking at her warily, he asked, "Is everything alright?"

Clara only smiled politely. "Yeah, everything's fine, just..." she trailed off, thinking of a decent reasoning to explain her perturbed facial expressions. "...hungry, that's all." she finished, rather pleased with her choice of answer, for usually she'd end up stuttering. Clara wasn't the best at impromptu lying. There was a small moment of silence before Clara simply shook her head. "We should get going." she said hastily, standing up from his revolving desk chair and slinging her bag over her shoulder, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavy with guilt. She had a whole list of questions on her mind that she wanted to ask him, even though she strictly knew that she couldn't tell him a word about the entire situation. _Was The Great Intelligence supposed to be a competition figure for TARDIS? _She wanted to ask. _Who was Walter Simeon? _But there was one question that lingered on her lips, yet one that was held back no matter how much her curiosity had bothered her.

_Why had he hid this from me?_


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I will be on hiatus for a couple of weeks, just to let you all know. I _will _be writing, just not updating, so when I come back I'll have the twentieth chapter posted. :)  
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><p><strong><em>Chapter Nineteen<em>**

Clara had been uneasy with The Doctor for days.

She didn't dare take it so easily, because it was too difficult to not bring it up in the little casual conversations they shared. She still couldn't come to terms with The Doctor keeping something like this from her, and she didn't know why he did in the first place. She would catch herself reading the letter every day, stuffing it in her bottom dresser drawer, a weight load of guilt in her chest knowing that she had stolen it from his waste basket. (Yes, things are put in the waste basket for a reason, she knew that he didn't want the letter in the first place, but the fact that she had taken something without his permission made her feel awfully ashamed.) The Doctor had, on occasions, been asking her if anything was on her mind lately, taken that she had developed a tendency of staring off into space with a blank expression on her face. Clara had usually responded with some unoriginal line, such as, _"Oh, nothing, I'm fine."_ Which made her vocabulary feel horribly derivative, plus the fact that she was already lying, so the whole situation made her feel rather deplorable.

"What's wrong with you?" Nina asked with a puzzled look on her face as she plunged a spoonful of strawberry yogurt into her mouth (Courtesy of Clara's refrigerator), staring at her fellow friend who looked rather down in the dumps. Her eyes were tired, her posture terrible, and her hair askew as if it had been caught in a ceiling fan, sitting down on her couch in exasperation as she glanced over to Nina with her eyebrow's raised. "What's wrong with me?" she repeated, laughing dryly. "I don't know how to solve one of my extremely unpleasant Clara Problems, and it's getting me awfully irritated." she muttered.

Nina sat down beside her, nodding sympathetically as she continued to eat her yogurt, for knowing Clara, she knew that when she couldn't solve a problem, she became rather isolated and deprived until she found her great resolution and enlightenment. "Well, how about we talk about this Clara Problem, and maybe I can offer you some guidance." Nina suggested, Clara mumbling to herself as she fell back on the couch, covering her face with her small hands as she started to explain rather quickly. "John had this letter at the bottom of his waste basket from this other publishing company that wants me to transfer after my contract ends with TARDIS, and I can't accept the fact that he's been hiding this from me, and _I _can't accept the fact that I found out about it and-"

"Why were you rummaging through his trash in the first place?"

"That's not the _point!_" Clara sighed, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. "The point is, I am keeping something from him that I'm not supposed to know about in the first place, and for that I feel guilty." she shook her head, curling up in a ball and leaning her head on a throw pillow in her despair and guilt. Nina stared at her for a minute, eating her yogurt and swallowing for a long time before she said, "Okay, maybe you're just taking this too far, I mean, do you even _want _to transfer after your contract ends?"

Clara was silent for a moment. "No."

"Then see?" Nina replied triumphantly, sticking her spoon in the air for emphasis. "Just kindly tell them that you don't want to associate with them, and those news aren't even difficult to tell John, I'm sure he'll understand you Clara, he loves you, okay?" she smiled, patting Clara on the back. It took her a while to respond before she said, "Okay. I guess so." in agreement with her best friend, sitting up so she could lean her head on her shoulder. "Thanks." she said.

"No problem." Nina smiled back. "I _am_ your cheapest therapist, aren't I?"

* * *

><p>Clara had been pacing around her room for at least ten minuets, biting her nails and playing with the ring on her middle finger, for it was habits such as these that prevented her from the prime things that she needed to do. Clara wasn't one on impromptu conversation, it usually consisted of awkwardly unbearable silences and a generous amount of <em>ums <em>and _uhs_. Clara truly dreaded it. _Just do it. _She kept telling herself, every minute passing she'd reach for the handles on her bottom dresser drawer, only to pull her hand away in hesitation, for it was going to take much more than a Nike motto to have her get anything done.

_You're being stupid, just make the damn phone call. _Her mind snapped into place, Clara grimacing at herself for her choice of language, for she couldn't procrastinate any longer. Without another thought, she snatched her phone off of her bedside table, forcing the drawer open and digging out the letter, staring at it for some time before she dialed the number in the print at the top of the page, Clara sighing in fear as she heard the phone ring two times before a woman with a sharp voice picked up on the other end. This was it.

"Great Intelligence Publishing Company, Miss Kizlet speaking." the woman said on the other end, Clara's breath shortening.

"Y-yes, this is Clara Oswald, I'd like to make an appointment with Walter Simeon?"

* * *

><p>"Thank you for giving us the opportunity to talk today, Miss Oswald." the man himself spoke in a bashful voice as he sat down at his desk in his lavish office, Clara feeling rather small in the place, sitting down on the leather seat with her hands folded atop of her lap. He handed her a business card, which Clara took hesitantly, staring at it for a few seconds before placing it in her bag. An assistant came up beside her, offering her a mug with the emblem on it, a the letters GI printed on the porcelain in gold. "Coffee?" she asked kindly, Clara looking at the offer for a moment in awe before she snapped out of her lingering gaze, taking it carefully into her own hands. "Um...thanks." she mumbled under her breath, taking a sip out of the mug, nodding her head a bit at its taste, for it wasn't <em>that <em>bad. The only thing that made it taste different was that it was made by a company she couldn't exactly trust.

The Great Intelligence's office was, out of all things, elaborate, and it couldn't even compare to TARDIS's. The main lobby impressed her, she could say that, lounging areas and revolving doors only a miniscule of the rather extravagant atmosphere, all tied up together by fake smiles and the sound of copy machines.

"I'd like to start this off by congratulating on your success as a writer of TARDIS." he said, straightening some papers out on his desk, Clara smiling politely at his compliment.

"Thank you sir." she replied respectfully, hugging her coffee mug with her two hands as she quietly blew the steam off of the top.

"No need to be so formal, you can call me Walter." he said, as if he were trying to be best friends with Clara rather than a future boss, the writer herself only pursing her lips into a skeptical smile. "Alright," she agreed, her voice a little too quiet. Walter only smiled at her, a smile that seemed anything but heartfelt, only making Clara feel even more timid. "As you can see," he announced in a thriving tone of voice, making Clara's heart jump out of her sweater. "We have many opportunities here at The Great Intelligence," he gestured towards the shelves of framed certificates. "Our writers are taught and guided for excellence." he said boastfully, and Clara admired the fact that he was proud, but she didn't exactly favor his tendency to brag.

She read the names printed on the certificates, some authors familiar, such as Harold Saxon or Tasha Lem; but most of them obscure in Clara's mind. But nevertheless, she nodded as if to look fascinated in such accomplishments. "The Great Intelligence has been a publishing company for at least forty-two years, so we are highly experienced I should say," Walter mentioned, and that's when Clara realized that he was slowly trying to compare the company that she was already working for. TARDIS was a fairly new company, only twelve years into business, and a rather strong twelve years at that. "We also have a variety of editors that will help improve your writing, and I believe that they have what it takes to help craft a superlative piece of work. Have you read any of our books Miss Oswald?"

Clara nodded her head. "Yes,"

"And did you enjoy them?"

_They were alright, I guess. _"Yes, they were fairly good reads."

Walter only beamed. "Well then, I can assure you that you will find working for us here as a splendid experience."

Clara only sighed to herself, closing her eyes for a mere second before she had to interrupt such positive talk. "Actually..." she started, placing her coffee mug on the side table next to her. "I came here today to make something clear." she spoke up for herself, swallowing hard before saying, "...I came to make it clear that I do not wish to write for your company." she said formally, her posture stiff as a board as his expression changed from serious to an annoyed disappointment. "I do thank you for the offer, Mr. Simeon, and the coffee..." she paused to breath a little. "But...I enjoy writing for TARDIS, and I want to continue my career of writing through them."

Walter only shook his head in confusion, as if the words weren't getting through to his head. "Miss Oswald, if I may, ease your-"

"I'm afraid that my decision has already been set." she interrupted, biting her lip nervously. "Your company seems lovely to work with-"

"Then why not write for us?" he asked.

Clara only smiled kindly. "When it comes to writing...TARDIS is my home, I suppose. It always has been."

* * *

><p><em>I can't tell him. <em>Clara told herself as she could feel the elevator rising beneath her feet. The Doctor had invited her to his office, and not having any initial plans, she couldn't exactly say no. She couldn't bear telling him about the meeting she just had the previous day, it would be too untimely and complicated, and besides, having already declined Walter's offer, she just suspected that he didn't need to know. It would all just wash away like footprints on sand, silently, and unimportant.

"Hey, how are you?" The Doctor asked, hugging Clara lightly before she sheepishly nodded her head in reply, dropping her bag on the sofa and walking over to his desk, sitting in his chair. "I've been alright." she smiled, straightening the papers and trinkets on his desk as he sat down on the sofa before her. "Excited for our trip?" he asked.

"What trip?" Clara said, shaking a snow-globe of The Eiffel Tower distractedly as The Doctor merely laughed. She suddenly sat still in realization, placing the globe back on the desk and staring at him in awe. "...that New Orleans trip...?"

"Yeah..." The Doctor grinned, sighing in unison with Clara as she sat back in his chair, spinning around triumphantly. "Oh my gosh, that completely slipped my mind..." she trailed off, covering her face with her hands, for her mind had felt truly disarrayed the past few days. "When is it?"

"In two weeks." he replied, sitting back and crossing his legs atop of the coffee table. "I'll be nice to have a break for once," he added.

"I bet," Clara smirked, tapping her fingers energetically on the armrest, for the amount of time that he spent working was tiring, just for Clara to merely imagine.

"Hey, do have a pen by any chance?" he asked suddenly, Clara eying him in slight surprise. For a publisher and a practical boss, she'd think that he'd at least have one at all times. "I only use one pen," he shook his head, trying to explain himself. "Which, I so happen to have left at home today, and I don't want to ask Emma for one because I already lost the one she gave me-"

"You don't need to explain yourself entirely." Clara laughed. "And, sure, it's in my bag." she offered, picking up the book on his desk and looking at its back cover, scanning the summary curiously as The Doctor searched into the neatly organized, unfamiliar world of a woman's purse. He'd never exactly seen one so tidy before, but then again, he had never seen any other purse besides Amy's, which was the definition of an inexplicable chaotic havoc. With Clara's purse impressively neat and in order, it made him see things the things that he was looking for, but it also had the cost of him seeing something that he didn't expect, something that he didn't exactly want his eyes to meet.

"Clara," he said, carefully taking out the business card that Walter had given her. "Why do you have this?" he asked her in a small voice, simply confused and even slightly upset. Clara's eyes widened as she hastily stood up from his chair, snatching the card out of his hand and looking at it for herself, thinking that if she looked at it for a long time, maybe it would just disappear. _The Great Intelligence_ in gold lettering shone from the sunlight coming from the window, Clara grimacing at herself for not tossing it in the trash yesterday. _No no no no no... _Clara's mind raced, for he had already seen it well enough to know. Why did she still have this? "Doctor, I can explain-"

"Please do." he said in a quiet voice, staring back at her with a blank expression on his face. Clara sighed, crumpling the pointless piece of paper in her hand, the creases and corners poking the skin of her palm as she threw the card in the trash, looking at him honestly as she started to talk. "I found that letter in the trash...and I took it." she said clearly, no doubt present in her voice. "I guess...I was just upset that you didn't tell be about it, and I wanted to take matters into my own hands, so...I talked to him. Simeon, I mean."

"You didn't have to do that-"

"Well, I did!" she snapped, crossing her arms, releasing her breath and looking up at him anxiously. "That letter dealt with my future, John, how could you not tell me about it?"

He only shook his head. "I figured that you didn't need to."

Clara sighed, closing her eyes. "You don't have to hide things from me like that." she said gently.

"I know..." he muttered under his breath. "I guess...I was just worried."

Clara suddenly raised an eyebrow. "Of what?"

He looked away from her. "...of..." he trailed off, sighing stubbornly, only wishing that she could figure it out for herself so that he didn't have to explain himself through words.

Her frown slowly faded into a small smile as she said, "Doctor...I rejected the offer."

He looked up from the view of his shoes. "You...you did?"

"Of course I did." she replied, laughing lightly. "Why would you think that-"

"Well, why _wouldn't_ you want to?" he shrugged nervously. "The Great Intelligence isn't exactly the type of company you turn down, with their...prestigious offices and complimentary coffees."

Clara only shook her head slightly, lacing her fingers with his as she said, "I want to stay here, at TARDIS, with _you_." she said kindly, reaching up to meet her lips with his in a soft kiss. She couldn't imagine writing with anyone else but him, and that's how she wanted it to be, and that's how she wanted it to stay. She pulled away delicately, brushing strands of hair away from his eyes as she smiled up at him. A long silence washed over them before Clara found the voice to say, "I love you."

He looked up at her and just stared, the words in that particular order so different to be heard rather than thought, a small smile on his face as he replied, "I love you too."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I apologize for not updating this sooner! I experienced a bit of writer's block, and it took me quite a few drafts to get it how it is now. xD Thank you to everyone for being patient. But nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! (A lot of soppy, possibly cheesy, sweetness and such I might add. xD)  
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**There are only two more chapters left, plus an epilogue! :D :D**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Twenty<em>**

New Orleans was an aura of charisma for Clara; it was like becoming a part of the paintings she had seen in her travel magazines. Components, each of which were especially contrasting, made up the famous city like pieces that made up an intricate puzzle, unfathomable and defiant, while being entirely beautiful at the same time. The houses of the uptown and Garden District area took Clara back to Victorian times; its archaic architecture and ornamental wrought iron fences serving as her setting inspiration for future stories. The city area of New Orleans was abuzz as any other city would be; skyscrapers towering over every citizen. To know that human kind has the strength and imagination to create such forms of art made Clara only wonder what was to come in the near future.

But there was one place that Clara hadn't seen yet that day, the French Quarter, the Vieux Carré, the oldest neighborhood in New Orleans. Their taxi driver had given them a miniature tour of what they passed by on the way to their hotel, but to Clara's disappointment, the French Quarter wasn't along their path. The Doctor had promised her that he'd take her there before their holiday was done, and even though it was a holiday that lasted only two days, Clara had put her trust into his statement.

Once they found themselves in the air conditioned lobby of their hotel, Clara finally found an opportunity to take a deep breath and take in everything that she was experiencing. She watched as The Doctor made formal conversation with the hotel desk clerk, their words unable to be overheard with the distance in between them, hand gestures and motions making it look like a silent movie from Clara's perspective. She situated herself in a comfy arm chair in the lounge area, her hand tightly gripping the handle of her suitcase as she sat back, for it seemed like the first time that day in which she was able to relax.

Her morning had primarily consisted of draining her energy into traveling internationally; the security was relentless, the contracts seemed unceasing, their money had to be converted, and the _waiting _was the main thing that seemed to test Clara's patience. But nevertheless, her spirit remained positive throughout their traveling with her temper receded, so she took that as a good thing.

The Doctor came up behind her, tapping her head as she gasped in surprise, turning around to glare at him menacingly. He only grinned a thousand-watt smile in return. "Ready?" he asked.

"You scared me." Clara said blankly, looking up at him as if she were a little girl looking up at a monster. She had such an innocent façade concealing her sassy and audacious personality, and it was so convincing that The Doctor actually felt guilty. He wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her gently as she only smiled in triumph.

"Come on," she said after a comforting silence resting between the two, gathering her belongings and pulling away from his embrace, standing up and sighing at her desperate need to stretch. She extended her arms and hopped on her feet, for she could never imagine that sitting down could be such a tiresome pastime. She followed The Doctor towards the elevator as he held the large automatic door open for her, Clara heaving her luggage into the tiny fluctuating lift, The Doctor accompanying her afterwards and pressing the button for the eleventh floor. The sound of a bell echoed off of the elevator's walls as the doors automatically drew themselves together like curtains. Elevator music filled Clara's ears as she felt the ground descending beneath her feet.

"Amy's nomination ceremony is at eight." The Doctor noted casually to her in the need of a conversational topic. Clara only nodded, her lips pulled into a tight smile as she looked up at the ceiling.

"It feels too soon." she whispered, lucid enough for The Doctor to hear.

"Well, Amy and most of TARDIS have been here all week." he replied. The Doctor had to stay behind a few days because of work, and Clara had agreed to stay with him. "You could have come here with them last Sunday, you know. You didn't have to wait for me."

Clara glanced over at him, and the look in her eyes told him that she thought he was properly crazy. "Well," she started, her words lingering on her tongue like she didn't want to let go of them just yet. "It's my first time traveling internationally, and I wanted to do it with you." she said truthfully. The Doctor's eyes were fixed on hers as he realized how special this trip was to her, and even though it wouldn't last as long as they'd hoped, she was thankful that she got time to be with him. "No matter how long the trip, two days or two years, as long as it's with you I'm okay." she admitted, for traveling alone was never exactly her cup of tea.

She had always wanted to travel, it was undeniable, but it was like a dream in the clouds. It was as if she were reserving it for someone important, someone special who would come with her so that they could share the entirety of the world together, for the world was far too big for her to see alone. She trusted The Doctor, it was just a beautiful simplicity. He smiled softly at her as the doors opened to reveal their floor, Clara smiling back as she pulled her luggage out into the hallway.

She inhaled the scent of vacuumed carpet and air freshener as The Doctor led them to their room, endless doors and room numbers passing by them silently as they remained quiet themselves. He finally stopped at the end of the seemingly limitless corridor, exhaling in content as he announced, "Room eleven twenty!" He fetched the key card from his pocket and inserted it into the scanner, but to his incredulity and inconvenience, it declined them entrance. His brow furrowed in confusion, attempting to scan it again, but to no avail, it wouldn't unlock the door. He jiggled the handle to convince himself of that matter, and as expected, it was firmly locked. He merely glanced over his shoulder to see if Clara was watching his failures, and to no surprise, she was standing right behind him, grinning at him in amusement. "Want me to try?" she offered.

"No! No, Clara. Don't you worry, I got this." he promised, pointing his index finger at her in reassurance as he continued to toy around with the lock. He tried again. Locked. He tried again. Still locked. By the seventh time, he had started to berate himself mentally for his inability to conquer such a straightforward task. As his defeats piled atop of each other, Clara's giggles became more profound to the point in which he said, "Do you think this is funny?"

She immediately covered her mouth in apology as her brown eyes did the smiling for her. "Well, I'd just assume that you would have noticed by now." she mumbled quietly in reply.

"Noticed what?" The Doctor sputtered.

She silently took the card out of his hand and simply flipped it the other way around, and scanning the card on her first attempt, the door opened upon her request, Clara stifling a laugh as she replied, "You were holding it upside down." She dropped the key card into her coat pocket as she casually strolled into the unlit room, The Doctor wanting to face palm himself for his lack of common sense. Yes, he was smart, clever school-wise intelligent, but street smarts had never exactly been under his list of expertise.

Nevertheless, The Doctor grudgingly dragged his suitcase into the room, Clara turning on the light and at an instant, her grin fell from her expression. She took in the scene of the room's contents, and slowly turning back to face The Doctor, a blank mien portrayed on her face, she asked, "…one bed?"

She was sure placing him in quite some uncomfortable situations.

The Doctor's expression immediately faltered as he opened his mouth, half-expecting a reasonable explanation come out, but all he could do was stutter like a shy child. "I-um…well, I didn't mean to-" He was cut off without words as Clara smiled at him with a diverting grin, a small laugh escaping her lips as she said, "I'm just teasing. It's not a big deal; I'm fine with it."

The Doctor blushed crimson. "Are you sure?" his voice cracked.

Clara nodded her head. "Positive."

His feet remained implanted onto the carpet as he watched her collapse onto the bed like a dilapidated scaffolding, almost as if it were to convince him that she was surely okay with them sharing a bed. He tried to get the uneasy thoughts out of his mind. She hugged a pillow close to her chest as the imprints of her hands and arms were sculpted into it like a clay mold. Her eyes stared at his quizzically, almost as if she was trying to analyze him entirely. "Come here," Clara said softly, motioning him to sit by her.

His feet shuffled over to her shyly as he sat down, Clara reaching for his hand as she said, "You don't have to be shy around me, you know." She smiled at him brightly. He only shrugged sheepishly in reply, Clara laughing as she slapped him in the arm playfully. "You can be so quiet sometimes." she admitted, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Well, I maybe I'm just…trying too hard." he mumbled, mainly to himself, for it was the truth. He was rather reserved when it came to his thoughts, _especially_ when it came to Clara, and, well, he didn't want to disappoint her. He seemed to over-think relationships entirely, he thought that if he were to take one misled step he would break everything, like glass. He thought that it would never get repaired, and even if it did, it wouldn't be like it used to. Maybe that's why he was extra careful, maybe a little too much.

"You don't have to try at all." Clara replied. "I like you just as you are, the quirky, bow-tie alien publisher; The Doctor." She smiled. "I just want to you to be yourself. Not that…timid lovesick personality." she laughed.

"…I don't have a timid lovesick personality." he muttered back playfully.

She only nudged him in the shoulder lightheartedly in return. "…let's have the time of our lives on this trip. Two days. Forty-eight hours. We can do it, right?"

He looked up at her with a smile. "Always."

* * *

><p>"Clara?" The Doctor called, hoping she would be able to hear him through the bathroom door. He stared at himself in the mirror as he adjusted just cufflinks, flicking his hair out of his eyes as he heard her reply, "Yeah? What is it?"<p>

"Are you almost finished dressing up? I've been in here for nearly twenty minutes." he called back. He heard some shuffling around coming from outside the bathroom door before she said, "Yeah, um, I'm done, you can come out now." He nodded his head idly as he adjusted his bow-tie, then realizing that this was their first time seeing each other all dressed up. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his navy blue blazer and waistcoat, his white button-up shirt, and approved of his appearance for the most part. He hesitantly rested his hand on the door handle, and without another thought, he opened the door.

Clara turned around from her position in the mirror, The Doctor standing in the doorway with his eyes wide and his expression primarily agape. She laughed softly as she looked down at herself bashfully, for she rarely ever dressed up for fancy events such as these, and was pleased to say that she found it rather enjoyable. Her sleeveless high-neck dress was a satin shade of royal red, the collar made of lace and the skirt a tea-length. Clara had only wore it once to a previous recital, and she figured it would come to good use eventually. She wore delicate black lace gloves on her small hands, her hair pulled into a loose hair bun that framed her face beautifully. The Doctor stared at her for a moment before words finally met his lips. "I-uh…" he stuttered, shaking his head. "You look beautiful."

She smiled humbly in reply. "Thank you. You look pretty dashing yourself." she raised an impressed eyebrow at his appearance.

The Doctor grinned, shrugging his shoulders casually. "I do my best."

Clara only gazed at him, turning to fix her purse and check her phone for any emails, instinctive little habits that she found herself doing when she felt speechless, it was as if words weren't appropriate to complement the situation, maybe just mere glances and smiles were enough. _Just look at us. _She told herself in slight amusement. _All dolled up. _"We should, uh…we should get going." She announced, slinging her purse over her shoulder. The Doctor nodded in agreement, holding out his arm for her. Clara stared at his appendage for a moment, hesitantly wrapping her arm around his before whispering, "Such a gentleman."

The Doctor would've pat him on the back for that one, but for the sake of his sanity, he kept the mere rewarding gestures to himself. He accompanied Clara down to the lobby where the concierge assisted them in getting them a taxi, and as he opened the door of the vehicle for the young couple, The Doctor made sure to tip him, maybe even a little too generously.

As the taxi driver asked where they were heading off to, The Doctor handled all the talking as Clara looked up at the night sky in curiosity and wonder, the stars and the moon shining like flashlights in a dark room. She felt the car drive itself forward as the tall buildings shifted position above them as they moved swiftly through the streets of New Orleans. Neon lights were in her vision as they glared gently throughout her view, cars whizzing by them like they were a part of some form of competition. Clara was already accustomed to city life, and yet she still felt like this was a whole other world. Maybe it was just because she was a long way from home, two plane rides and an ocean ought to make a girl feel distanced between her home and her adventures. _If I want to travel the world, _Clara thought to herself. _I had better get used to this feeling of separation. _

She looked down to see her fingers laced around The Doctor's, their palms brushing against each other's softly. Clara hadn't realized that she was holding his hand in the first place.

Once they had arrived at the event center and paid their taxi driver, the sound of wheels rolling off into the distance faded gradually as they stared at the building arm in arm. It resembled the clean yet archaic New Orleans architecture, light leaking out of the windows as the two approached the double doors. The Doctor held the door open for Clara as she walked in, a hostess greeting them cordially.

"Good evening, what party will you be joining tonight?" she asked with a warm smile.

"TARDIS Publishers." The Doctor replied. The hostess nodded her head. "Right this way." she said as she led the way for the two, Clara looking around in amazement of the entire atmosphere. Waiters and waitresses bustled around with glasses of champagne and various cuisines, businessmen and women talking and laughing at one another's company. Clara hadn't expected so many guests to be attending. The walls were decorated with blue and gold gossamer fabrics, strings of fairy lights twinkling like stars dotting a night sky, and it bore a resemblance to the view that Clara had seen from her taxi window. The stage fashioned its red curtains, its hue similar to Clara's dress; white flowers of all types decorating the environment.

As they approached their set of round tables, a few familiar faces lighted up with smiles at the two of them drew nearer. Amy was the first one to greet them. She ran up to them excitedly, her heels not exactly to her benefit as she threw her arms around the two, squeezing them tightly in her embrace. "Oh, I'm so happy you two are finally here!" she squealed, her grasp slackening as she pulled away to inspect the two from head to toe. "Aw, you two are so adorable!" she complimented like a proud mother on the day of a promenade. "John, may I say you look ravishing this evening and _Clara!_" she exclaimed, looking at her dress in awe. "Oh, Clara, you look lovely."

She laughed. "Thank you, you look beautiful tonight." she said, Amy's long ivory dress standing out like a pearl in the bed of a sea. "And congratulations on your nomination, you deserve it." She smiled, hugging her once more. Amy squealed in elation as she announced, "Ooh! I have somebody I want you to meet," She pulled her towards their table, a rather slim man looking up at the two idly from his salad. "Rory, this is Clara. Clara, Rory. He's my husband." She introduced the two to each other rapidly as he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Hello Clara," he smiled, turning in his chair to face her. "I read your book; writing's amazing." he complimented, Clara blushing in return, Amy leaning in to whisper in her ear, "He finished the book in two and a half days, he wouldn't even leave his room to urinate." Clara stifled a laugh as she shook his hand politely, thanking him for the acclaim.

Suddenly, she saw a handsome man in a suit rapidly tapped Amy on the shoulder, the Scottish red head turning around in exasperation, as if she already knew who was badgering her. "Amy!" he exclaimed. "May I thank you for these exquisite tasting champagnes, they're amazing. _Amazing_." He shook his head in disbelief as Amy only rolled her eyes.

"Don't thank me Jack, thank the grapes that made them." she replied with a smile. His eyes suddenly darted to rest on Clara, a flirtatious smirk appearing on his face as he kissed her gloved hand passionately.

"And who is _this _pretty little lady that I have failed to meet?" he asked Amy.

"Don't even know her name yet and you've already spread your germs onto her hand." Amy rolled her eyes. Clara only laughed nervously. "I'm Clara Oswald." she addressed herself politely, Jack gasping in surprise.

"Well Clara Oswald, may I say that you look like a million bucks tonight."

Clara smiled. "Thank you, Jack. May I assume that you belong to the family of Harkness?"

"Assume you may. And, correctamundo! Jack Harkess, at your service."

Clara's smile only widened excitedly. "Wow, gosh," she said in astonishment. "I love your books. They're so…inappropriately hilarious."

Jack covered his grin behind his hands, squealing like a teenage girl at her flattery. "Aw. Thank you!" He said in a small, happy voice. "I love your book too!"

But before their conversation could exceed furthermore, The Doctor stepped in between the two and their friendly conversation, wrapping his arm around Clara's protectively while saying, "Clara! Finally found you." He laughed it off. "Jack," he nodded his head towards the flirt, the man himself looking at Clara and The Doctor in perplexity for a few moments before he gasped in realization, pointing his index finger at the two and then covering his mouth in an elated shock. "Oh! You two are-!"

Clara sighed with laughter, nodding her head in admittance. "We're uh…courting. If that's what you want to call it."

Jack wouldn't wipe the smile off of his face, up until the point in which The Doctor found the entire situation rather uncomfortable. Luckily, another familiar face came in to join the conversation, her blonde hair and perfectly aligned teeth shining with euphoria as she approached the group, a man in a pinstripe suit by her side. "Hello!" Rose chirped, accepting the group's hugs and greetings, the nameless bloke by her side being welcomed as well. When he got to Clara, she smiled awkwardly and stuck out her hand. "Hello, I don't think I know you," she said for starters.

"And I don't think I know you," he chuckled, taking her hand. "I'm David. Rose's boyfriend."

"And I'm Clara. John's girlfriend."

His brow furrowed. "You're dating my brother?"

Clara immediately turned to The Doctor. "_He's_ your brother?"

"Unfortunately." The Doctor grimaced. He had occasionally mentioned his older brother in family stories of his, but Clara had never exactly pictured what he'd look like. He was thin, _paper _thin, sporting a pinstripe suit and beige converse on both feet, an unusual choice of attire for a formal event she might add. _Whatever floats your boat, I suppose. _Clara thought to herself. His hair reminded her of a tidal wave, similar in a way to The Doctor's, but the eyebrows were especially contrasting when compared to each other's.

"Hey, no need to be rude. I'm a fantastic brother." David claimed, flashing a smile at Clara. "Now tell me, how do you put up with him?" he said, as if it was a way of payback. The Doctor shot him a threatening glare. Clara only giggled.

"I don't know David, I mean, as a first boyfriend of mine I think he's doing a fine job."

"Oh really?" David replied. "Your first? Well," He suddenly lowered his voice. "You don't think you could be making a mistake here?"

Clara laughed, shaking her head. "Nah. Even if it was a mistake, I think I'd be making it purposely just to be with him." She smiled up at The Doctor.

David only smiled proudly at the two. "Well, as long as he's taking good care of you."

Clara nodded. "He is."

"Well then, I'll leave you two to yourselves. Have a nice night, you hear me?" he asked the two, Clara waving goodbye as he followed Rose to make conversation with more miscellaneous guests. She looked back at The Doctor. "He seems nice."

The Doctor smiled, nodding in slight approval. "Yeah, he can be. Most of the times."

"...does the gravitational hair run in the family?"

The Doctor only shrugged idly, slowly nodding in agreement. "You could say that."

"And the unusual fashion fetishes?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I don't know, the sand shoes, the bow-tie-"

"Hey, _bow-ties are cool._" he said in a strong conviction. "But insult the sand shoes all you like."

Clara laughed, a small silence resting in between them. "...I feel so thankful to know that you're in my life." she suddenly said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You're the first boy I ever truly loved."

He smiled softly down at her. "And for that I am truly honored."

Clara grinned. Cheesy it may be, but it touched her heart in a way that nothing else could. "You know, I have a word for all the things I'm thankful for."

"And what is that?"

She looked down at her shoes, her lips curled into a small smile. "…I call them miracles."


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter Twenty-One_**

Clara became acquainted with quite a few of her unfamiliar coworkers that evening. Jenny Flint was the sweetest, her cockney accent and optimistic persona bonding the two in a friendly conversation. She had come with her wife, Vastra, a kindhearted detective with more stories in her mind than actual thoughts; Clara had always wondered what it was like to live in the mind of an investigator. Jenny explained how many of Vastra's cases had inspired her for novels. Kate Stewart had arrived later in the evening, Clara reacting to her presence in the manner of a squealing teenage fangirl. She had always imagined what that moment would feel like, meeting the one person who had touched her life in that intangible, abstract way. Kate's books had always painted the picture of a 1920's film noir atmosphere, the film itself flickering in the imagination of her mind in a daguerreotype filter. With all that inspiration stated, The Doctor, being the obnoxious optimist he was, thought it was a great idea for them to meet.

Of course, the conversation had mainly consisted of awkward pauses in which Clara herself would recover from the unceasing urge to scream in achievement. Albeit the circumstances, Kate was thankful for the acclaim and none the less friendly with Clara, also congratulating her on the success of her book. Clara, her expression humble yet her smile beaming off rays of the sun, didn't know how to respond to such compliments. Having a role model of hers praise her for work of her own felt incredible, Clara realizing how many minds had intertwined themselves with the words of her book.

Later on in the night, TARDIS publishers became ecstatic to hear that Amy had won the award of _Best of Women's Literature_, the redhead herself practically screaming in triumph, fists held proudly in the air as she then proceeded to attack her fellow coworkers with breathtaking embraces (Literally), the sound of instant applause ringing out like bells as she made her way onto the stage. She almost tripped on the hem of her dress from the enthusiasm, only laughing it off wholeheartedly she ran up to accept her award. "_Wow_..." was the first word that was released from her tongue, a euphoric grin on her face as she tried to come up the words for an impromptu acceptance speech, nothing coming to her mind for the first few seconds. "Um," she laughed, scratching the back of her head. "I'm an award winning author and yet I can't come up with the words for my own acceptance speech." she said dryly, laughs erupting from the awaiting crowd instinctively. She sighed in content. "I'd like to thank so many people, but if I did, I'd be here all night." she admitted, wiping back the tears that shuddered on her waterline. "Thank you to all of my friends at TARDIS, my ridiculous editor-practically my brother-John, for putting up with me; and Rory, especially, my wonderful husband and best friend..." she trailed off, sniffling in an overwhelming wave of exultation. "I wouldn't be standing right here if it weren't for all of you." she concluded confidently, acclaim and applause roaring from the blur of faces before her as she hugged the brass metal weight-load of her victory close to her.

After many concluding hugs to the award-winning author, the reception receded from its excitement, only to lead into the hours of what was to be a late-night party. Jack was far from sober, Clara gasping for air from the laughter as he danced wildly to the music echoing off of the walls. She quickly became close friends with many of her coworkers as the night progressed, maybe even enough to call them her family. Everyone had welcomed her warmly, Clara needing a few moments herself to take it all in. Her job, writing stories and crafting them into books; it didn't feel like work, it felt like a passion. It was as if it were the only thing to let her mind wander off independently, maybe that's what she loved the most about it.

Her brown eyes stared into the sea of people, dancing, talking, drinking into what would be a rather unforgettable night. She took the chance to smile at the scene from her chair, twiddling her thumbs idly as she stared at it all. She loved it, and that was the truth, but something in her told her that this wasn't how the night was supposed to end. She would generously accept to fall asleep with memories of this, but her mind seemed to drift otherwise, almost as if it knew that the night wasn't over yet, as if it were saving a place in her brain for something else, something even more special in the tiniest of ways. It was like a shelf, a spot dusted for something to be put there later on, that souvenir unknown and tentative of existence itself. She shook her head from the thought, for she had a tendency to over-think things too often. It was a common habit of hers.

A light gasp escaped her lips as she felt arms wrap around her neck gently, a familiar face beside hers as she smiled softly. "Hello, Doctor." she whispered, his skin so close to hers that she could sense his smile of return. "Hello, Clara." he replied. "What do you say we head out for a while?" he offered.

Clara arched an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean? We _are _out." she observed, gesturing towards the swarm of lively people.

He tilted his head in agreement. "Yes, but I figured we could have some alone time. You, me, a quiet dinner. My treat." he suggested idly, Clara grinning at the thought. The growling plea coming from her abdomen agreed to the thought as well, which is when Clara actually realized that all she had in her stomach was a glass of iced water and a single slice of bread from its free appetizer basket. She was too preoccupied with talking to her new alter egos to eat, she had supposed. She sighed in content, leaning back on The Doctor's shoulder comfortably as she replied, "Yeah...that would be nice."

The Doctor beamed. "Perfect; I know just the place."

Clara scoffed playfully. "Even in another continent you know just where to go."

"And you would find that I am a _brilliant _at tourism." he remarked proudly. "Restaurants and everything."

Clara smiled. "...can we just say goodbye to Amy and everyone else before we leave?" she asked.

He nodded. "Of course."

The two greeted everyone a goodnight, them receiving a surplus of hugs during the process. When the news of their departure had reached Amy, she immediately embraced the two just as she did at the beginning of the evening, and when the couple had started towards the double doors of the building, Amy grabbed a hold of The Doctor's collar, and yanking him backwards she whispered to him, "Hey. She's a keeper, for sure. Who loves you to death." she chuckled, her facial expression suddenly faltering. "And that is _not _to be taken literally, I swear, I mean, _I _love pancakes to death, oh and Rory, yeah Rory too, but it's not supposed to be-" she inhaled deeply only to sigh in disappointment of herself. "I'm really screwing up, aren't I?" she observed. "She just _really _loves you, okay? Trust me, she's told me." she shut herself up before she could say anything else, and hugging him one last time, she said, "Now go to her and have a wonderful rest of your holiday together, okay?"

* * *

><p>The cool air swept by them leisurely as the stars of the darkened sky peered down upon their little outdoor table, pedestrians and customers bringing the French Quarter of New Orleans to life. Her eyes did the smiling for her as she gazed across the table towards The Doctor, a half-eaten plate of jambalaya sitting between them, its mild spice and savoring taste limiting their conversational chances, not like Clara was upset or anything; the food was amazing, so she couldn't complain. They had decided to just share a plate in the end, The Doctor having to suppress an unforgivable laugh when ordering their food to the waiter, just the sound of the word <em>jambalaya <em>in the accent that seemed to benefit him the least throwing him in a fit of giggles. Clara, a small smirk of amusement on her lips, lightly kicked him in the shin from underneath the table. The waiter only smiled, and closing his order pad, he asked politely, "Never been here before I suppose?"

Clara sighed, her grin radiant, the laugh in her receding. "Is it that obvious?"

The waiter released a wholehearted chuckle. "You all enjoy your dinner, alright?"

After he had left, The Doctor had allowed himself to give in, his laughter unceasing as his forehead met with the table, his quiff of hair sprawled out amongst the white tablecloth. Clara leaned towards him, and in her most playful scowl, she said, "You are _terrible._" She stifled a laugh as she watched him pick his head up from the table, and with a childlike grin on his face, he sighed in content. "It's so fun to say: _jam-ba-lay-a._"

He was such a child at heart, the magnetic charisma of his comical being only bringing a smile to her face. Never had she met someone so clever and idiotic at the same time, someone whose personality revolved around such contrasting characteristics; she couldn't describe him without the use of an oxymoron. She had talked to Amy earlier that evening, and she had found herself falling into a ramble of sorts about him. _"He's smart and utterly stupid at the same time. Shy, and yet the most ridiculous outsider of a man I've ever met. And albeit the peculiarity, you love everything about him." _

"Doctor...?" Clara suddenly found herself saying, the reason behind it uncertain. He looked up from his view of the table. "Yes?"

She shook her head shyly. "N-nothing, just..." she trailed off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear instinctively. "...thank you."

He smiled at her. "What for?"

"Just...everything." Clara replied simply. She inhaled deeply and looked down upon her hands folded atop of the tablecloth, for there had been something she wanted to talk to him about, but it was a rather tentative subject. A mere abstract idea that was sprawled out into a disarray of sloppy diagrams and plans in her mind. "Actually Doctor, not just that, I, uh..." she bit her lip anxiously, exhaling slowly, she found the courage to lift her head and look at him. "I love being an author, you know I do, and I still want to be one, it's just that...I've been looking at a few...job opportunities lately."

The Doctor's eyes became an expression of curiosity. "Such as...?"

"...teaching." she smiled weakly. "English especially."

"What about the restaurant entertainment?" he queried. "I quite enjoyed that."

"Well, my contract is ending soon, and...I don't know, I just want to branch out, I guess." she shrugged her shoulders casually.

He sat back in his chair to get a better view of her, his eyebrows drawn together and his mind at work. Could he imagine Clara as a teacher? Grading papers and exams, lecturing the works of Shakespeare, setting students straight with her unceasing sass, sitting on a little high stool every weekday as she read aloud to her class the everlasting importance and beauty of modern literature. He raised his eyebrows, for it wasn't a surprise that he found the whole idea appealing. "...yeah..." he finally said after a long silence, nodding his head in approval. "That suits you. Teaching. Lecturing. Scolding."

"I do not scold-!" she snapped, The Doctor smirking at her as she released a guilt-shaken laugh. "Okay, maybe just a tad."

The Doctor chuckled. "No, but really, you should give it a try. See if you'll like it."

Clara nodded confidently. "Yeah, alright. I will."

After they had finished their dinner, a cuisine of which she had decided will not be named aloud for the rest of the night, for Clara's sake, they walked around the French Quarter's little side paths, the lights illuminating their faces and shaping their shadows of silhouettes. Clara clung onto The Doctor's arm like a child not wanting to get lost as they weaved through the scattered components of people walking along against and beside them. Its lively atmosphere kept Clara on her feet. The architecture was just like Clara had imagined it, paint chipping window shutters, quaint little shops with windows that displayed dolls and worn-out library books. Horses tugged along carriages in the street of neon reflections, sidewalk cafés emitting aromas of cakes and coffees.

A saxophone trio down at a street corner park gazebo played melodic accompaniment tunes to the animatic life of New Orleans, Clara arching her eyebrow slightly when she found herself humming along to its familiar tune. _I actually know that song. _She told herself in a matter-of-fact, needing a bit of convincing herself. A smile slowly painted her face, her muscles the painters as they curved her lips upwards in excitement. As they neared the corner park, Clara's mind flashed with an extempore opportunity, her hand slowly sliding down The Doctor's forearm to grasp his hand tightly within hers, and thinking none further, she tugged on his hand heartily as her feet shifted from the direction of the sidewalk path. She pulled him out onto the dewy strands of grass, The Doctor sputtering out his confusion in the form of mumbled unorganized words.

She laughed to his surprise when he asked, "That The Lion King?"

"_Caaan you feeeel the loooovvveee tongiiiigghhtt?" _she sang out, her voice into the direction of the stars, almost as if she were performing for them. She was surprised at the quality of her voice, its conviction and decent key, the circumstances being that she didn't sing that profoundly. The Doctor only smiled, and taking her hand, he asked politely, "May I have this dance?"

She stared at the offer blankly, thoughts racing through her head wildly, her shoulders shrugging in flirtation as she replied, "I thought you'd never ask." He grin only broadened. "I'd…I'd love to, actually." she said in merely a whisper.

In all honestly, she had been rubbish when it came to slow-dancing, the discomfort of such a simple thing making her feel uneasy. The Doctor could tell, as her oblivious expression clearly stated that she had the slightest experience with romantic gestures. He only smiled, taking her small hand and placing it on his shoulder, and placing his on her waist, he could feel her flinch from underneath his skin. "Sorry," she apologized quickly, giggling in amusement of herself. "Tickles."

The Doctor only laughed quietly, and holding her free hand with his, he assured her, "Just follow my lead, okay?" Clara nodded in reply as he took small steps, forward, left, backward, then right, Clara mirroring him nervously as she looked down at their feet. "Hey," The Doctor nudged her gently. "Look at me." She did as she was told, and meeting his eyes, she gave him a small smile.

"I have no idea how to do this," she admitted, for it had been years since she had felt this close to somebody, while dancing, that is.

The Doctor only smiled. "I think you do it like this," he said, and squeezing her hand gently, he spun her around, Clara laughing wholeheartedly as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're a great teacher, you know." she remarked playfully.

"And you're a fast learner," he remarked back.

"People are staring." she laughed again.

The Doctor merely shrugged. "Good then. I want them to see what a quick learner you are."

"Or what a great teacher you are," she added.

"Or both."

She lifted her head, meeting his eye, its green aura staring back at her, she nodded confidently with a smile. "Yeah." She agreed. "Definitely both."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: These Doctor Who World Tour interviews have been taking me on an emotion roller coaster these past few days. If you know about the whole ordeal on Clara and her personal life throughout season eight, I suppose you'll know why. I find it so confusing, and though I wish to rant, I'll keep this author's note spoiler-free. (It's all on Tumblr anyway. :P xD)  
><strong>

**(...Eleven and Clara for life! Yay!) **

***Shakes it off***

**Okie dokie! Here we are! The final chapter. (Not the last update! There is, of course, an epilogue in the making. *winks*) This installment will take a slightly different format, just to organize things a bit. But without any further ado, enjoy! :) :)**

****_Upgrade_**_**:**** I re-uploaded this chapter because I had received a few messages of it not being available after it updated. Hope it helps!****_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty-Two (Two years later)<br>**_

_Thirteen days before.  
><em>

His two hands shook as if they had intervened with the impact of an earthquake as he raised his cell phone to his right ear, it's cold glass screen touching his warm skin as the echos of ringing traveled through to his brain. His feet paced themselves amongst the carpet of his office as if they were permanently fixed onto following the precision of a straight line, forward and back, and nothing more. The Doctor had never felt so nervous in his entire twenty-nine years of living, and that itself was an understatement. Terrifying beats pounded on the inside of his chest, at a faster pace than usual. It wasn't under his health concern, albeit his heart's dexterity was practically doing the job of two. He felt as if he had forgotten how to breathe properly once he heard the click of correspondence on the other end of the line as a soft masculine voice answered his call. "Hello?"

"Hello!" The Doctor squeaked, his voice cracking like glass. He immediately smacked himself in the forehead for his poor attempt to sound calm. "Hello Dave, i-it's John. You're, uh, daughter's boyfriend." he sputtered out nervously, as if Clara's father didn't already know who he was.

"John! How are you?" the man greeted him. His tone sounded friendly on the other line, or so The Doctor had hoped. He didn't allow his pessimism to slacken, however. "Is everything alright?" Dave asked suddenly out his fatherly cynicism.

"Yes! Yes, you're daughter's fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine." he assured him one by one, as if he needed to thoroughly specify. _Focus. _He told himself in determination, and clenching his teeth in apprehension, he added,"I was just wondering if I could, uh, ask you a question?" (That's just the kind of man The Doctor was, asking permission for the ability to ask a question. Clara found it annoying sometimes.)

There was a slight pause on the other end before Dave responded, "Of course! Go right ahead."

The Doctor licked his lips, the grip on his phone tensing. "...actually Dave, I'd rather not discuss it over the phone." he admitted, trying to keep his confidence high. "Perhaps we could talk? Over coffee...?"

* * *

><p><em>Thirteen days later.<br>_

Smiles illuminated off of both Amy and Nina's faces as they watched Clara chat with yet _another_ ecstatic fan of her science-fiction novel, the two swore it was the fourth one that had noticed her that day. The trio had gone out for lunch that afternoon, upon The Doctor's request, to which Clara had found none other than suspicious. Not the entreaty, but that grin on his face when he had announced it. _"Go out and have lunch with Amy and Nina today!" _He said. _"I'll be fun__!" _He said. _"Go out __and text, have a scone; whatever you girls do." _He was hiding something, and she reckoned that her lunch mates were in on the whole scenario. Both Nina and Amy were practically grinning from ear to ear throughout the entire meal, as if they knew something that she didn't, and Clara had to bite down on her tongue in order to resent herself from saying something.

"Sorry," Clara apologized to her friends outside of the restaurant, the bag of leftovers in her left hand as she waved to her enthusiastic fan with the other as she walked away with her parents.

"Don't worry about it!" Nina chirped, her voice sounding a little too happily optimistic for Clara's own comfort. "We're both happy for you."

Clara arched an eyebrow, planting both feet firmly on the ground. "Why, thank you." she replied. "Now would you both care to explain to me why you've been so bubbly this afternoon? Seriously, what has gotten into you?" Both of her friends only responded with buoyant smiles of bliss, which Clara had to admit was becoming rather disturbing. "Nothing!" Amy claimed, rocking back and forth on her two feet. "It's just the caffeine, I suppose. You know what three cups of coffee can do to you."

Clara only nodded her head in reply. "Oh, so it's the coffee then, huh?" she queried, still not entirely convinced. But the chances of her interrogating them furthermore suddenly disappeared as she gasped from surprise, a pair of arms wrapping around her waist from behind her, and she didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The Doctor laughed in triumph as he spun her around, for his embrace had become a sixth sense to Clara. She giggled as he set her back down on the sidewalk, Amy and Nina exchanging knowing smirks at his appearance.

"Apologies for the interruption, but may I steal this little lady of yours?" he beamed, bopping Clara on the head. She laughed in return, and crossing her arms across her chest, replied, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm interrupting, you see, and eventually stealing." he responded flatly.

"Well, it isn't exactly stealing if your asking for permission to steal."

The Doctor scoffed in disbelief. "I'm asking for permission to steal. That's still stealing. The verb remains."

"Yes, but you're practically taking the steal out of stealing."

The Doctor's shoulders sank like a fallen ship. "..._ing_, then."

"Quite so." Clara looked down at the pavement, pleased at how he was catching on.

The Doctor exhaled. "My, I do love it when you talk etymology to me, Clara Oswald." he shook his head. "Consider me outsmarted, then." he announced, kissing her forehead. He then turned to Amy and Nina, an enthusiastic smile on his face. "Well, ladies? You're consent?"

"Go ahead!" Nina sputtered out hastily. "Take her!"

Clara furrowed her brow in dubiety. "Why, thanks for the appreciation Nina." she mumbled under her breath.

"Have a fun time with your _boyfriend _Clara," Amy urged in attempts to hurry them into his car, Clara stumbling on her feet from such a quick pace as The Doctor bustled her into the passenger seat of Handles, even strapping her seat-belt on for her. She huffed in annoyance as she blew a strand of hair away from her face, crossing her arms as she pondered over what The Doctor was so eager to whisk her away for at such a immediacy.

Both Amy and Nina gave The Doctor one last thumbs up before he grinned nervously in return, closing the door of his beloved vehicle only to be met with his rather irritated girlfriend. "What was that all about?" she declared at once as The Doctor fastened his seat belt, the sound of the engine purring as he lurched the car forward, Clara fidgeting uneasily in her seat as she grabbed a hold of the arm rest for support. "Blimey, what's wrong with you?!" she asked worriedly, her muscles tensing as he drove rather wildly through the streets of London.

"Nothing's wrong with me there's never nothing wrong with me." he sputtered out distractedly, his eyes fixed onto the road before them.

"You know how I feel about the double negativity, John." she sighed, her tone of voice a concoction of disappointment and aggravation. She only called him by John whenever she was genuinely sincere or genuinely irritated, and judging by her timbre she wasn't showing any signs of empathy. "Sorry." he whispered in attempts to soothe her hassled mind, his grip on the wheel constricting. "In love with an English scholar and teacher, not to be messed around with when it comes to syntax." he reminded himself aloud.

Clara smiled, gently nudging him in the ribs. "I'm not really a teacher. Not yet." she reminded him firmly. She was merely a wandering substitute receiving little pay at every secondary school or so, filling in for educators once every few weeks. It didn't feel like a proper job to Clara, all she seemed to be was a supervisor and paper dispenser. She was still existent in the restaurant entertainment business, it was a job she couldn't afford to quit. Although her book sales were ascending at a rather rapid pace, along with the honors of a few minor magazine awards, she still found herself drifting amongst the path of a meander, unsure of where her life was ultimately heading.

"You will be, Clara. One day. And you'll be fantastic at it." The Doctor reassured her, reaching over to hold her hand, lacing his fingers around hers, squeezing them gently as Clara only smiled at him in return. She'd never imagined that her life would shape into this, yet she couldn't picture herself living another. Months had come and gone leaving her with an impact that only defined her as they passed. Two years of this. Two years of him.

"Where are we going?" she asked lightly, the monotonous scene of a highway traveling by outside of her window.

"Somewhere." he replied nonchalantly.

"May I ask for a specification?" she requested.

"You may ask, but you won't be getting one." he replied quite frankly, Clara pouting disappointingly at his denial, her expression resembling one of a child. He merely glanced over to face her before snapping his head forward once again, determined to keep his eyes on the road, primarily to avoid her rather adorable stare of innocence. "Nope, I'm not falling for it Clara Oswald, not today." he pointed his index finger at her in conviction, to which he only received an eye roll in return. For most cases, that would've worked. Clara laid back and reclined her seat by a few inches, closing her eyes and exhaling softly in her defeat.

"Someone came up to me today," she announced suddenly, her voice quiet.

"Oh really?" The Doctor asked, for it wasn't surprising. Clara was approached rather often nowadays.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding her head ever so slightly. "It was a girl. Around eleven or so I believe; she told me that when she grows up she wants to be a writer...just like me." she ended her sentence on a weak note, as if she were trying to avoid sounding conceited in any way. It was a quality that shone upon her vividly, the continual need to speak humbly overwhelming her to an extent, to the point in which it made her seem unbelievably shy and in denial. The Doctor knew that Clara was thankful for the flattery, but the attention had started to make her feel like she had received too much, as if the acclaim was flooding unceasingly against her. She was so determined of not becoming caught up with the esteem others held for her that The Doctor often had to remind her to unwind and simply appreciate the admiration.

"Others are _inspired_ by your work Clara, can't you see?" he said delightedly.

She sighed. "I suppose it's just difficult to believe." she answered truthfully, biting her nails habitually. "It seemed as though just days ago I was nowhere near to being someone..." she trailed off, trying to search through the words scattered throughout her mind. "...someone who was noticed by so many people, as if the _idea_ itself was unrealistically unreachable. Someone who...made an impact on others."

He looked over to meet her eyes, his quiff of hair falling in the way, yet she still managed to see that glimmer of green through the strands of brown. "Who ever said that you've never made an impact?" he asked dubiously, his thin brow furrowing. She only responded with silence, The Doctor turning back to face the road before saying, "Well, I don't know what you've been told Clara Oswald, but without a doubt, you've made the biggest impact anyone could ever imagine; regardless of the book you've written, or the fame you've accumulated..." he spoke each word as if they were all equally outstanding. "...you've made an impact. On me."

Clara felt her heart weaken heavily, pressing her lips together tightly as she tried to contain herself. She carefully leaned out of her seat as she kissed his cheek, her lips lingering on his skin as she whispered, "I suppose...you've taught me what love is. And...what it will always be." Her eyes closed, and he could feel her eyelashes brush against his skin. "I can't even _begin_ to explain the impact you've had on me." her voice wavered like a flickering light-bulb as she rested her head on his shoulder, the violet tweed against her cheek as he leaned his head against hers in return.

They both stayed like that for countless minutes, either of them unwilling to shift from their position. Clara only wondered where they were heading, where the car would ultimately come to a restful stop. It had seemed as though they just kept driving, as if whatever had passed outside of her window, simply wasn't good enough. The sun's light and the shadows that it created played across her face and hands, the sound of vehicle's wheels against asphalt complementing the silence.

Although the drive wasn't at all tedious, Clara held a hint of suspicion as The Doctor turned onto the roads of a quiet and unfamiliar neighborhood in the suburbs just outside of London. Rows of houses lined the streets as trees and flowering bushes showed off their greenery, and Clara found the surprise nothing but miscellaneous. The Doctor had no family in this tiny area outside of the city, nor did she.

Handles finally came to a rest in the driveway of a bungalow, it's bricks a shade of ivory white and sepia and it's windows obscured by shutters and curtains from the inside. Pebbles neatly aligned a pathway that led to an array of steps, ascending unto a porch with small potted plants and flowers. It certainly wasn't made for the residence of one, but it wasn't extravagant either; it's size seemed fit for a family. Clara stared at it all in wonder from inside the car, for it looked like beautiful home. "Doctor, what are we hear for-?" she turned back to the driver's seat, only to be met with its vacancy. The Doctor closed the vehicle's door behind him as he bound up the porch steps, gesturing for Clara to follow him. She raised her eyebrows in dubiety as her hand slowly made its way to the door's handle, pushing it open and hesitantly stepping out onto the driveway.

The sun gave her warmth against the chilly air conditioner from inside the automobile, Clara inhaling and exhaling the scent of fresh air as she heard the vehicle's locks click into place. The Doctor grinned as he stuffed his car keys back inside his pocket, Clara approaching the house warily as he fiddled with what seemed as though the house key. She furrowed her brow in confusion as he swung the door open, leading them both into the empty space of a foyer. From Clara's first glance, she automatically knew that the house was isolated, which only piqued her curiosity furthermore as The Doctor announced, "Welcome to the residence of Emerald Street, Clara Oswald."

She still lacked a prime explanation as she willingly allowed him to give her a tour of the house, her small grin gradually spreading across her features as she looked at each room. It was a three-bedroom abode, the master's painted a hue of ivory, the two others a shade of periwinkle and baby blue. The floor boards creaked underneath the soft carpet as she walked into each one, her eyes already determining the place of the bed and nightstand, almost as if she knew someone was going to live there. She could imagine children playing and sleeping between the room's walls, growing up each and every day. It was then when she suddenly wished for children of her own, ones to take care of and look after as they became taller and wiser, until they were grown up to do just the same. Clara loved children, every aspect of them, from their cries of complaint to their smiles of glee.

The kitchen was rather impressive, The Doctor describing it as _'the perfect habitat for your attempts of cooking and baking.'_ She wasn't sure if that was intended as an insult or not, the word _attempts _irking her by a miniscule, but she could admit it any day, cooking was not her field of expertise. Though she still enjoyed trying. It was a wide-space area, cabinets and drawers of all sizes clear and unoccupied for gadgets regarding the art of cuisine. What exited her the most was the large oven, just waiting to deflate Clara's endeavors of a soufflé.

Right above the sink was a window that displayed a clear view of the backyard, wide and open patches of grass that made a scenic overlook amongst the few trees and bushes that framed the lawn. The Doctor then led her to the extension of the house, through the dining parlor and into a sun room that didn't require much of a description. The sun's natural heat had spread warmth throughout the room through it's wide windows, the room serving as an entrance to the backyard as well as a perfect little dining spot.

There was one room, however, that she had loved the most, a living room, or what Clara preferred to address it as, a _family _room. Bookcases lined the walls like dancers against a ballet bar, of course that had won her over without question.

Then, Clara soon found herself standing in the midst of the bungalow's foyer, a smile on her face as she saw the home as a whole. She seemed to love every detail of it, not one better than the other. Meanwhile, The Doctor shuffled on his two feet as he suddenly blurted out, "So, what do you think?" She sighed happily as she gazed at the ceiling above their heads. "Oh, I love it, it's a beautiful home." she admitted, another question on her lips, and although she already knew what his answer would be, she just wanted to hear him say it. "John..." she whispered, turning to meet him face to face, Clara having to crane her neck to do so. "...why are you showing me all this?"

The look in his eyes filled with excitement, for he had been waiting for this moment, and he had been struggling to maintain his patience. Silently, his hand reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small silver house key, the name _Smith _engraved on its surface. "I never know why, I only know _who._" he replied, placing the key atop of her palm and wrapping her small fingers around its shape, bringing her hand to his lips as he kissed it gently. "This home is _ours_, Clara. Well, only if you want it to be."

Clara bit back the smile that curled amongst her lips as it only spread to the twinkling of her eyes. "Of course," she replied softly. "Always."

His smile couldn't be described by words when he heard her response, his exhilaration only ascending as an awaiting silence filled the gap between them. When The Doctor suddenly found his voice again, he sputtered out nervously, "Oh, um, would you...would you mind if I asked you another question?"

Clara laughed, placing both hands on his shoulders as she replied, "You don't need permission. Just ask."

"Right," he remarked lightly, his hands fidgeting nervously as he opened his mouth, only to close it with hesitance. He had practically rehearsed this conversation in his mind and how it would proceed, but it seemed as though he had forgotten how to form proper sentences as he looked over to Clara, his Clara. Her curious stare whenever he attempted something completely and utterly idiotic, the dimple that became more prominent as she laughed at his failures of doing something completely and utterly idiotic, and her _smile_. The way the corners of her lips arched as a true sense of amusement and bliss overcame her, that smile overcame _him_ just as much. Her smile made others want to grin along with her, The Doctor more than ever.

He closed his eyes, primarily for the purpose of focusing, and as he exhaled, his hand found her way to hers. Her fingers intertwined with his, and he could sense her curiosity upon his awaiting question. His other hand remained stiff inside of his coat pocket, his fingertips brushing over an object as if it were entirely foreign, but he didn't regret anything. So, taking one last confident breath, The Doctor bent down, knee grazing the hardwood floor as Clara's eyes suddenly widened at his gesture. "Clara," he said, her name lingering on his tongue, tiny velvet box in his hand as he asked, "Will you marry me?"

She stared at it all, and thought for sure she must have been dreaming, a dream in which she had always wished to fulfill, and now, here it was. She had dreamed about her wedding and marriage proposal in a state of a pure fairytale perspective, as if it could only happen with the beauty of miracles, but the man before her was one himself. A miracle in which she couldn't have been more thankful for. Without a word, she immediately kissed him, her lips meeting his in a matter of seconds. A smile filled his face as he said, "I suppose that's a yes...?"

Laughter rang out, Clara nodding her head confidently as she leaned back to observe his euphoric grin. "Yes, of course it's a yes!" she exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around him in an embrace, a tremendous wave of nervousness being lifted from his shoulders. He was so ecstatic that he just scooped her up in his arms entirely, bridal style even, spinning around repeatedly until their heads spun themselves. She leaned her head on his shoulder as they both laughed together in unison, Clara joking, "I never knew how fantastic you were at proposing."

The Doctor only tilted his head to the left. "That's good to hear, I mean, this being my first time and all. Well, I had to propose to your father first." he admitted through gritted teeth. "You couldn't imagine how terrified I was."

Clara got a kick out of that, the picture of The Doctor being unable to control his tongue as he spoke with her rather bewildered father about plans to take her hand in marriage bringing a sense of amusement to her. "You are such a gentleman," she remarked proudly, tousling his head of hair.

"Why thank you, love." he grinned, taking the compliment generously.

After that, the two could do nothing but smile at one another, knowing that one day, a set of hours, composed of minutes and seconds that were impossible to forget, they would call each other husband and wife; a title that only added to their list of titles. The writer and the editor. A bossy control freak and a mad man. A wife and her husband. The list went on and on. But, in the end, they were simply two people, two people who loved one another in the most unlikely ways.

_Clara and The Doctor._

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><p><strong>Next Time: EPILOGUE! :D :D<br>**


	23. Epilogue

**A/N: I can't believe that we're here, at the finish of this little story. :') Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, favorited; this epilogue is for you! :D :D  
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><p><strong><em>Epilogue<em>**

Clara had never imagined spending her thirty-eighth birthday stuck in a classroom. Truth be told, she had never really contemplated upon the idea of it, but it was unexpected nonetheless. Her routine had followed its familiar course, she'd teach three morning classes and another three in the afternoon; but little perks and such were scattered throughout her day like shredded pieces of irksome confetti. Students gave her the presumable presents: cards, chocolate, mugs (A _hell _load of mugs…), and she was absolutely thankful for it all. Albeit the fact that she would gain a pound or two if she committed herself to the calories of every sweet. Even the notorious teenagers of second period kept themselves quiet that morning, which was a good enough gift for Clara.

Her book had become a best-seller, Clara biting back her smile every time she saw one of her students reading it in her class. She almost wanted to give them extra credit points. _Almost. _It was the most rewarding feeling one could have when they would question her endlessly about how she came up with Oswin's cryptic yet lovable persona of sass, or The Doctor's unorthodox fetishes, a look of awe upon their faces.

As all teacher-birthdays were, everyone seemed to make such a fuss about it. (_"And we would like to wish our wonderful English teacher Mrs. Oswald-Smith a very happy birthday today!" _the head-teacher had chirped over the static of the intercom, Clara finding herself cowering timidly in her desk chair.) She didn't mind though, telling her pupils the actuality of her age, for she had received the question rather frequently. _"I'm thirty-eight years young, thank you very much." _she'd reply with the utmost sarcasm and self-confidence. Thirty-eight was just a number, anyway. She tried not to pay much attention to it.

Her phone had been bombarded with greeting messages from her fellow coworkers, whether it was from TARDIS or the history teacher down the hall too lazy to get up and walk. But the foremost enthusiast was, of course, her obnoxious husband. The Doctor had significantly put it out there that his wife's birthday was a day that nobody, whether you knew her or not, was going to forget. Clara often found it exasperating, for she had to force him to tone his enthusiasm down by just a tad. It genuinely seemed as if he were more excited about her birthday than she was.

Some felicitations, however, simply brightened her day even more so. Right before her lunch break, Clara heard a faint knock upon her classroom door. "I come bearing gifts," a female voice declared through her smiling teeth. Clara looked up from her paperwork only to be met with the eyes of a familiar blonde. "Rose!" Clara cried, standing up to hug the girl. "What are you doing here?"

"Like I said, I'm here to give you a gift." she beamed proudly, holding out a box enveloped with store-bought wrapping paper. "John phoned me last night, which was unusual because he's not one to make small-talk at random, you know?" she explained, her hands tracing gestures in the air. "Anyway, we're there chatting 'bout the weather and whatnot, and he just casually adds, _'Oh yes, it's Clara's birthday tomorrow, did you know that?'_" she said, attempting to imitate the voice of Clara's significant other. "I knew he was up to something," Rose shook her head with a smile on her lips. "Well, of course I had to drop by and greet you, so, happy birthday!" she exclaimed cheerfully. Clara grinned, taking the box and eying it excitedly. "Oh, Rose you shouldn't have." she claimed, turning the object in her own hands. "Thank you."

"You're welcome!" she nodded, urging her to open it immediately. "Well, go on!" she exclaimed as Clara delicately peeled the tape from the paper, for she was one that often favored detailed and pristine proportion in gift unwrapping. The Doctor found it a rather agitating habit, but Clara didn't regret anything about being neat. Once she lifted the wrapping from its contents, the first thing she did was laugh heartily. "Oh, wow…" she giggled as she took the newly polished photo frame into her hands. "John and I look so young in this." she admitted, raking her hair with her fingers.

It was an old photo, taken on a day in which Clara remembered quite clearly. It was nearly ten years ago, she had estimated, at an outdoor children's reading event in which TARDIS was currently sponsoring for. (The Doctor had convinced her to go, apparently she was _'so good with kids'_.) The picture was taken afterwards, her and The Doctor playing on a swing-set in the park, her hand in his and ridiculous expressions on both their faces. She remembered Rose encouraging them to smile as she played with the settings on her fancy Nikon, snapping the photo right before The Doctor had made the attempt of jumping off, which, as everyone who knew the man would assume, ended horribly.

"So, what do you think?" Rose bit back her proud smile as she herself admired her photography skills. A grin filled Clara's face as she replied, "It's, gosh, it's beautiful, I love it!" Rose practically squealed in delight and triumph like a child being told that her dress was pretty. Clara laughed at her response as she hugged her once more. "I'm going to put it on my bedside table once I get home," she promised her friend as she carefully propped the photo on its frame stand, admiring the way the light shone upon it from its place on the desk. "You're an amazing photographer, you know that?" she added, Rose's smile of gratitude thanking her enough.

"Do you have any plans for tonight?" she brought up.

"Ah," Clara exhaled, crossing her arms across her chest. "I figured I could just stay at home this year, nice dinner with John and the rest of the Oswald-Smiths." she nodded her head with a small smirk upon her features.

The rest of the afternoon had just gone by as a blur for Clara. Her coworkers had arranged a small cupcake celebration in honor of her thirty-eighth year on Earth, the girl herself awkwardly shuffling upon her two feet as the rest of the staff belted out the notes of the happy birthday melody. (She had always found those experiences the most uncomfortable.) The number of students who had immediately seen Rose's gift upon Clara's desk were uncountable, primarily because every one seemed to ask the same question: _"Is that your husband?" _After Clara had said yes, the replies were unbelievable.

_"Wow." _

_"He's good-looking. For a man with that big of a chin, I mean." _

_"What happened to his eyebrows?"_

First impressions. Clara inwardly reminded herself to keep quiet about it when around her husband.

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><p>Five-thirty had rolled around in a heartbeat, and Clara suddenly found herself back in her own driveway, unloading a pair of torn paper bags currently occupied with temptation (another word for chocolate) and coffee mugs, Clara having to use her foot to close the truck of her vehicle. Clumsily fumbling with her set of keys, she managed to lock the automobile, then proceeding to clamber up the front porch steps. But right before she was about to search for her house key, noises of cheering and revelry came from the back of the house, ringing her ears as a sign of unusual triumph. Clara furrowed her brow, unlocking the front door and placing her bearings just inside the foyer, only to slip back out again into the sun.<p>

Dropping her keys into the pocket of her jacket, Clara made her way around the bungalow, the grass flattening underneath her two feet. The white picket fence creaked as she opened it as entrance to the backyard, only to be taken aback by the sight of her husband dancing in victory, his appendages of arms and legs flailing around ungracefully. Apparently, the two children before him were taken aback as well. Walking in on their annual football game was always a surprise. "That's four to one!" The Doctor declared proudly to his son and daughter, pumping his fists in the air as the son, a toddler with a mop of brown hair, ran off to go grab the ball from the opposite side of the lawn.

"But that's not fair!" Maëlys, the only girl participant in their football match, protested, stomping her foot on the ground, her green eyes narrowing in envy of her father's goal. "You're bigger than the both of us!"

"But it's two against one, so that's not fair either." The Doctor retorted back at his seven year-old daughter.

"I wanna try kicking the ball next!" Felix, the youngest at the age of three, interrupted as he returned from retrieving the ball, apparently unaware that his side was losing. To him, football wasn't even a competition. It mainly consisted of kicking and retrieving. "Be my guest!" The Doctor beamed, Mae only rolling her eyes in response. Felix smiled excitedly as he placed the ball before him, for it looked so ginormous compared to his tiny hands. Clenching his fists determinedly and swinging his chubby toddler leg behind him, Felix kicked the ball with all of his might, Clara finding herself giggling at her son's prowess.

The Doctor had intended to catch the ball, and he was confident about it too, despite the fact that his son's aim was a few inches too low. The ball hit him in the groin as he wheezed in pain, Mae slapping a hand over her grinning mouth as Felix only cried, "I did it daddy! Did you see that? I kicked it _really_ really far!"

"You sure did, good for you!" he sputtered out, his two hands clutching awkwardly in between his legs, automatically sending Clara into a fitful of laughter. At the sound of their mother's voice, both of her children immediately tuned towards her, a smile on each of their faces as they both ran up to her screaming, "Mummy mummy mummy you're home!" Clara laughed as she scooped them both up in her arms, brushing back their sweat-soaked hair to press a light kiss to each of their foreheads. "Hello to both of you! How was school today?"

"I drew a giraffe today in art class." Felix announced.

"And I got a 98 on my math test!" Mae smiled proudly.

"Did you see me kick the ball, mummy?"

"Yes, I did!" Clara nodded her head. "Keep practicing on that aim," she added, warily eying her husband in the background. "Well, I'm glad you two had fun! Now," she clapped her hands. "Go inside and change your clothes, you're all sweaty from playing in the sun." she prompted, both children emitting quiet _'aws__' _as they head back through the sun-room's double doors. "Oh, and happy birthday mum!" Mae added.

"Yes, happy birthday!" Felix echoed after his sister.

"Do you need any help, Felix?" Clara called after her son, for the boy still had trouble with removing his shirt. "No! I can do it all by myself!" he shouted back, Clara chuckling as she watched them disappear into the house. Those were her children. Always so determined and independent little beings. She then turned back to the remaining family member, who seemed to be gradually regaining his strength after Felix's three year-old vigor.

"Do you have a boo-boo?" Clara teased him playfully, taking both of her hands in his.

"...yes..." he nodded with a childish pout upon his face, his arms wrapping around her tiny physique as she only laughed even more.

"Well, I'm not kissing that, but I can give you an ice pack if you need one." she offered jokingly, patting him on the back. The Doctor only laughed, his embrace tightening. "Nah, just seeing you makes me feel better already."

Clara scoffed. "Now you're just being cheesy."

"I have the right to be cheesy. It's your birthday. I, as your husband, can be cheesy on occasions such as this."

"Whatever you say, Doctor." she smiled, placing a quick kiss upon his lips before heading inside their blessedly air-conditioned abode, her husband following right behind her. "Oh, yes! And I'm thinking about starting a new collection." she added over her shoulder.

"A collection of what?"

"Coffee mugs."

He furrowed his brow at her response they toddled leisurely through the hallway, Clara then shooting a suspicious glare as they passed the kitchen door, which was unexpectedly closed. They never kept that door closed. The Doctor didn't seem to notice. She didn't get the chance to question, however, before she stepped foot into the dining room, her eyes widening at the sight placed before her. It's aroma made her mouth water as she stared at a series of plates and dishes. Pasta and jambalaya, an unusual concoction of sorts, but meals that The Doctor knew she loved. And of course, instead of the traditional birthday cake, there was a soufflé, a tiny pink candle impaled at the top of its savory fluff. "Oh yeah, forgot to mention..." The Doctor stage-whispered with a foolish grin atop of his face. "...we made you dinner."

Clara found a smile filled her face at an instant. "It's lovely." she stage-whispered back, kissing his cheek affectionately. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Don't just thank me, thank your offspring. They helped a lot with this."

Clara laughed. "I can imagine that._ You_, teaching _them_ how to cook."

"Well, they did." he said in defense. "It was strenuous, but we managed to make it look presentable."

"Ha," she replied. "You sure did."

Suddenly, Clara felt a small hand tugging at her skirt. "Mummy?" Felix's voice asked, Clara looking down to the sight of her son's shirt pulled over his head in an disheveled heap of blue fabric, his hands blindly trying to pull it off. "My shirt's stuck again." he claimed flatly as Clara only laughed lightly in reply, squatting down to assist her son. Mae made her grand entrance a few minutes later, wearing her new sailor dress and hair-bow, which had evidently become her favorite outfit ever since Clara had purchased it from Gap last month. The Doctor found the attire absolutely adorable, which genuinely pleased both his daughter and wife.

After Clara had finished dressing Felix for dinner, she was finally given the chance to eat a decent meal after her cupcake and chips brunch which had held no satisfaction to her stomach whatsoever. Overall, she was just thankful; for her children, her husband, her students, the jambalaya especially, it was finesse. She did have to admit that she was having second thoughts about consuming something that her children had helped cook, for she often had to lecture them about personal hygiene, but after The Doctor had convinced her for the tenth time that they had all scrubbed their hands clean before and after, Clara finally found the courage to take a small, _miniscule_ bite.

She knew she didn't have the right to have doubts, everything was delicious, and it was unlikely that she'd have to store any leftovers in the fridge afterwards. The Doctor was a good chef. Better than her, she'd admit. Not like she'd ever say it aloud.

Towards the end of their meal, Felix poked his mother in the elbow repeatedly as he said, "Look mum, I made you a card!" He then handed her a flimsy piece of paper torn out of his notebook, which he had apparently been sitting on the entire time. Clara beamed as she opened the card to reveal the words _happy birthday mummy _written in letters of various sizes and orientations. (He still couldn't identify the difference between a lowercase _b _and _d_.) "Is that suppose to be me?" Clara asked as she pointed to a tiny stick figure drawn in a pink crayon. Felix nodded proudly. "I hope you like it!"

Clara nodded. "I love it, thank you!" she smiled, pressing a kiss to his mop of hair.

"I have a gift for you too!" Mae chirped in, holding a bracelet between her index and middle finger. "I spent all of yesterday making it." she smiled as she handed it to her mother, Clara putting it on as she admired her daughter's craft-work. Pony beads following a pattern of pink and yellow wrapped around her wrist as well as the plastic letter beads that spelled out the word _love_. "Mae, this is lovely! Thank you very much." Clara said as she pulled her daughter into a hug, kissing her cheek.

The Doctor leaned towards her. "Don't I get a kiss?"

"You have to give her your present first, daddy." Felix informed as if it were an official law.

The Doctor almost looked offended. "I do?"

"Yes, you do!" Mae giggled. "Ooh, come on daddy, show her already!" she pleaded, swinging her legs back and forth from her chair.

"Show me what?" Clara queried dubiously. "You didn't get me something extremely unnecessary again, did you?" she glared at her husband.

"Hey," The Doctor raised his index finger in defense of her statement. "That massage chair was _entirely _necessary, and no, I think you'll like it this time." he grinned as he took her hand, pulling her out of her seat and dashing into the foyer of the house. Clara tried to keep up as her children giggled to one another in excitement of their mother's surprise. Clara couldn't do anything but worry. "Close your eyes first," The Doctor instructed, his left hand resting on the doorknob to the living room, Clara furrowing her brow in response, yet doing as she was told. She heard the door open as Mae and Felix squealed in delight, the sound of them jumping up and down being brought to her attention.

"Can I open them now?" Clara asked, carefully stepping into the room with her arms outstretched in case she ran into any miscellaneous furnishings.

"Okay, now-" The Doctor said, and right as Clara opened her eyes, it seemed as if her heart had even stopped to stare at what was before her. Surely she must have been dreaming, for she couldn't even believe that The Doctor had remembered something so seemingly ancient as this. Standing in the corner of the room was a piano, baby grand, and undeniably coated in red. "TA-DA!" both of her children exclaimed as they waved jazz hands in the air. "It's a _piano!_" Mae remarked.

"A really _big _fancy piano!" Felix added.

"...oh my stars..." Clara breathed as she approached the instrument with small steps in her gait, her fingertips brushing its polished surface delicately as she said, "I-It's beautiful." A smile gradually overwhelmed her features as she practically jumped atop of her husband, who staggered back from her impact as she hugged him tightly. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you _thank you!_" she squealed as The Doctor chuckled, wrapping his arms around her in return. "I'm glad you like it."

"Like it?!" she scoffed in disbelief. "I _love_ it!" Clara exclaimed as she brought her lips to his, Mae's face smiling as she let out an adored _'awww' _at her two parents, whereas Felix's face only twisted into a look of disgust as he sighed a quiet _'ewww'_. Clara laughed at their reactions, gesturing them to come and join her on the piano bench. She carefully lifted the piano's heavy polished fallboard and smiled at the pristine black and white keys it revealed, her fingers dancing atop of them as she played a C scale, each note clear and crisp. "Are you going to teach us how to play?" Mae asked curiously from beside her, staring at the keys with a sudden interest. "If you want to, yeah." Clara grinned, swiveling around to look at her beautiful family.

"Thank you...for everything, the dinner, the presents, it was wonderful." she sighed in awe. "I am so blessed to have you all in my life, and I'll never get tired of saying it." she said, wrapping her arms around the two children on either side of her, squeezing their shoulders gently. The Doctor's entire face seemed to be at ease and bliss, the way his eyes twinkled and his lips curled into that optimistic smile, and Clara loved every detail of it. "Just, one question..." she bit her lip hesitantly as she stared into the eyes of each and every one of them. "On a scale of one to ten, how messy is the kitchen?"

Their content expressions immediately fell from their faces, Clara taking the time to stare blankly at them all individually. After an excruciating five seconds, the family sprung into a race towards the kitchen door, the sound of feet pounding recklessly atop of the hard-wood floors echoing in their ears. Clara luckily arrived there first, stepping in front of the trio with her control freak's mentality shining upon her like a badge. "Ah ah ah," she clicked her tongue, raising her index finger informally. "Answer my question first."

The Doctor grimaced, waving his hands to and fro as if the gesture were enough to wipe the skeptical look off of her face. She wouldn't give in. "...five?" his voice cracked uncertainly. "Maybe a seven. Okay, eight point five." he admitted earnestly, Clara arching an eyebrow as a sign of her dissatisfaction. He exhaled laboriously, almost as if to pass the time as Clara impatiently awaited a response. "...eleven...?" he squeaked out, Clara heaving a sigh as she pushed open the kitchen door, and right as she turned around, she instantly regretted it.

Pots and pans piled atop of one another like a newly manifested empire in their sink, _two _deflated soufflés sat pathetically by its side, spills and overturns scattered about like post-hurricane puddles. And the _sugar_. It was like melting snow, powdered in places unthinkable. It might have not been so horrendous for one prone to kitchen disarray, but with Clara's evident consistency for cleanliness, saying that the scene before her was a nightmare would be an understatement.

In less than a second she had twirled around to glare at the rest of her family, a 'please-don't-be-mad-at-us' smile plastered on each of their faces. The silence was unbearable. After an agonizing glare-to-smile staring rivalry, Clara took a few deep breaths, and after that, out of all the infuriating after effects her terrifying kitchen had placed upon her, she was able to release her anger with a shaky laugh and a smile. "Come here," she said, opening her arms as the three of them immediately ran into her embrace, The Doctor being the most relieved out of all. Though they could be the most troublesome group of misfits, her adoration for them was undying. "I love you all so much." she murmured. "We love you too!" the three all said in unison, almost a little too quickly.

"Now," she announced, only hugging them tighter. "Let's get to work on cleaning this kitchen."

Mae and Felix groaned in complaint, Clara gasping incredulously. "Oi! It's my birthday, remember? You both promised to be extra nice."

Mae only swung her arms from side to side, for she knew clearly that she had made that commitment, she just didn't want to admit to it. Felix only displayed a look of pure defeat. "Fine." they both spat out grudgingly, Clara nodding her head in approval of their consent. "Alright then," she grinned. "Mae, you fetch the broom; Felix, go make yourself useful with some paper towels; and _you_ mister," she said, hooking her index finger onto her husband's bow-tie, tugging gently so that her eyes met his. She could feel him gulp. "You're helping me with the dishes."

He flashed her an innocent smile. "Drying?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Oh, fine. I'll wash." he mumbled, Clara smirking as she patted him on the head.

The Oswald-Smith household sprung into an unwilling action, Clara finding herself before a sink-full of soap suds in a matter of minutes, The Doctor unable to keep himself focused as he blew soap bubbles into the air, Clara's eyes following its path until they popped into tiny droplets. She only shook her head with a broad grin on her face, asking, "Will we ever really grow up, Doctor?"

"We already have, it's the childish character that never really leaves us." he answered earnestly while staring into the deep abyss of a tomato-encrusted stock pot. "That is, if you want it to stay."

"As an author who writes and obsesses about endless science-fiction, I don't see a reason as to why it should abandon us." Clara admitted, leaning her head on his shoulder. "...love you." she smiled up at him, a smile out of thousands, yet she could never stop that look upon her face from reappearing, even if she had wanted to; that look that expressed happiness and amazement of the people around her, the places that composed into the setting of her own little life story. Little compared to the universe, but mighty indeed. She could never fathom the number of times she had said _I love you _to her husband, to her family, and the number would do nothing but grow endlessly. His lips curled into a look of pure elation as he placed a kiss atop of her head, responding, "Love you too Clara, and happy birthday."


End file.
